Assassin's Creed III : Revolution
by DeathscytheVII
Summary: Post AC 3 *SPOILERS*: It is 1789, Revolutionary France teeters on the brink of war and chaos, and Connor once again finds himself aligned against the Templar's plans for Europe. As he becomes more embroiled in the revolution, he finds himself questioning his beliefs more than ever, with an even more shocking thought weighing in his mind. Was Haytham right?
1. A New World

_"One day when all of this is over, I will invite you to Paris to stay with me and my family. She is the most beautiful city in all the world Connor; full of art and culture, women and wine. But she is sick on the inside, black and rotten...But here, here is something quite different. On the outside, the colonies are dirty and dangerous, unforgiving and uncivilized. But on the inside, they glow. That is why I'm here. To learn. I want to return home, able to touch France's black heart, and make it glow once more. "_

_- Marquis de Lafayette speaking to Connor******  
**_

* * *

**Assassin's Creed : Revolution**

* * *

**Fort Schuyler** -** New York Region - August 1784  
**

Within the silence of the trees, a lone wolf cry pierced through wilderness like a pistol shot. Roosting birds exploded from the trees, raining down leaves and brush from the disturbed branches in panic. A deer, which he had been tailing from the tree top canopies for some time, looked up and began running from the direction of the sound, away from the carefully laid trap he had prepared hours before hand.

Cursing silently but not willing to let his prey get away, Ratonhnhaké:ton, or Connor as his friends called him, quickly moved from his safe perch dozens of feet above the ground. Free running past the branches and jumping from tree to tree with an ease that would have been familiar to many of his ancestors past. Each jump and swing was done gracefully, silently, as he had learned since he was old enough to walk.

Now, a fully grown man of twenty eight. He was garbed in a hooded white dress uniform jacket with blue lining, as well as a thin red sash fastened with an Assassin insignia, and brown boots with leggings that extended past his knees. In addition to that, he was also heavily armed, with his hidden wrist blades, tomahawk and cross straps that held three pistols a piece, the powder horns dropping over his shoulders. Having spent the last few days in the wild, he didn't want to take any chances running into danger, and whilst it no longer came from the Red Coats, there were still plenty of dangerous animals and poachers that could pose an issue.

The deer was fast, swerving left and right between the trunks of the great oaks and making way for a clearing, to better gauge the threat in the trees.

Connor however, was faster still, and before the deer cleared the last tree, he had already squatted on the branch of the tall tree, and just as the deer passed underneath him, he jumped. A lifetime of instinct and training took over and he unsheathed the hidden blade and dug it into the neck of the animal with barely a passing thought.

The deer collapsed onto the grass, it's arteries pierced and spilling out blood. It was a swift, painless end.

"_Nia:wen._" Connor said solemnly, respectfully thanking the animal for providing him with its bounty. He then unsheathed the hidden blade from his wrist and began skinning. When the deed was done, and the skins collected, he slowly made his way back to camp.

It was a fair summer's day, and after what seemed like an eternity of fighting, peace had finally found its way into the land of his people. For Connor, it was bittersweet at most. His own people, the Mohawk, had been forced to leave their ancestral homes, which were overrun by the very same colonists he had fought for. But in his dealings with many of them, he was convinced that they were a fair people, and like his own, valued freedom above all else. He was confident that in time, they would find a way to live together in harmony.**  
**

That was one of the reasons why he had decided to come to New York, to make sure his people had gotten their fair share of the spoils from the British. It came through a surprise invitation to the homestead from a man named Joseph Brant, who had heard much of Connor's exploits during the war. Brant was a Mohawk loyalist who had also been an associate of William Johnson.

The name stuck like bile in Connor's throat, but he long agreed to bury the hatchet with the past. Those men, his father among them, were long dead and gone from this world, leaving the colonies and his people to decide their own future.

As Connor entered the camp, a man called out a greeting to him. He was a tall man, with a big build that made him almost Connor's equal.

"Good hunting I see, _Ratonhnhaké:ton_." Brant greeted Connor in the Iroquois tongue.

"It is good to see you too,_ Thayendanegea_." Connor addressed Brant by his Mohawk name.

In his brief meetings with Brant, Connor found that he liked him. He was an honest and noble man, who sincerely desired a peace between his people and his adopted peoples in colonies and the British. Although he fought on the Loyalist side, Connor did not believe him to be a Templar, instead, he was manipulated like so many of his friends and people. The man was a fellow of his tribe, and as he got to know him as a friend, he was silently glad he didn't have to fight him during the war.

In front of them, was a vast camp filled with hundreds of warriors from the six nations. The Mohawk, the Oneida, the Onondaga, the Cayuga, the Seneca, and the Tuscarora tribes, all gathered here to negotiate with the colonists, who called themselves the United States, to settle the land disputes that had come about from the revolution.

"How goes the progress of the talks?" Connor asked nonchalantly as he laid down the skins by his tent. They would fetch a fair price for Myriam back at the Homestead, which had already grown into a bustling community of almost a hundred people since the end of the war. Achilles would have been proud to see how far they had come, he thought to himself.

"Not good I'm afraid, your colonial brethren are most persistent in their claims on our lands." Brant said gruffly.

"They are my adopted people, as much as they are yours brother." Connor replied. "In time, I hope they can see that, and live together in peace."

Brant gave Connor an amused look. "I too, used to believe that. And I admire you for being a visionary, brother, but the reality unfortunately, is less flowery."

"That is why we are here. Is it not? To help build a better future?" He gave Brant a pat on the shoulder. "Come, my tribe awaits, we can share tales of our exploits by the fire tonight."

Brant smirked, "That at least, I can agree to, _Ratonhnhaké:to_n."

* * *

The festivities lasted for the better part of the day, punctuated by the arrival of the American delegates. Blue coated Continental troops escorted them, and their muskets were a grim reminder that the proceedings was between former enemies.

Still, their presence was welcome in the valley, for they brought many gifts, foods and most importantly, several barrels of rum and bottles of wine. Connor did not partake, although he knew several of his brothers had prized what they would call the 'darling water'. Still, it was a start to have so many of the tribes together under the protection of American hospitality. Already, the people were starting the feast fires, while another group began dancing and chanting in celebration of the coming peace.

The colonist delegation seemed to fit in easy enough, although Connor did not recognize any faces. That was, until someone slapped him on the back rather abruptly.

"Connor!" A voice shouted in a heavily accented English. "It is great to see you again _mon amis!_"

Connor turned, and could not help smile as he came to whom he had not seen since the end of the war.

"Lafayette?" Connor blurted in surprise.

"That, or you can call me what the chiefs call me, "_Kayeheanla_". He smirked, easily settling into festivities. Instead of the blue coat of the Continental Army, Lafayette sported the white colored uniform of his native French Army.

"What are you doing here my friend?" Connor asked with genuine curiosity. Although he couldn't care less about the Continental army now, he still respected and liked the Frenchman who had risked everything he had to come across the Atlantic to join in their fight for freedom.

"The usual, speeches, drunken feasts, and dancing" He said cordially. "I was doing a tour of my adopted country, and I was asked to preside over these negotiations to show our good faith. Of course, free wine can also go a long way." He smiled.

"I am glad to see the people are honoring your contributions my friend." Connor said genuinely.

"Yes," Lafayette replied. "I have seen so much during my time here. I only wish that _La Belle France_ could follow your people's example. It is extraordinary what you have accomplished here."

He raised an eye towards Connor.

"Have you ever reconsidered my offer Connor? It still stands. Your people are free, but mine still labor under injustice. Your help can go a long way to change that." He said sincerely.

Connor nodded quietly, he knew from Achilles and by extension, Haytham, of the state of Europe. Europe was firmly Templar territory, and the Brotherhood had not had a significant impact there for centuries. Such an offer was tempting in itself, even if it meant several years away from home. He always wondered what the world across the seas was like.

"Besides!" the Frenchman continued, oblivious to Connor's train of thought. "I would love to show you the sights of Paris and my home country. Who knows, we may even find you a nice French lady eh!"

Connor found himself flush at the last statement, true he had not really thought about settling down just yet, not when there was so much to be done. Also, his work was by nature dangerous, he couldn't think of raising a family.

"Anyway, how fare the negotiations with the colonists?" Connor decided to briskly change the subject.

After some thought, Lafayette responded. "I have no doubt the States will agree to the Iroquois terms of sovereignty in Western New York, so long as they have Lake Erie and the Ohio River. My king is also interested in a French-run fur trade in New York, in order to draw business away from the cursed British. Perhaps you can help us with that too eh?"

He gave the young man a friendly nudge.

"In any case Connor, I leave by the end of the year. If you wish to join me, you can meet me at New York. Here is my card." He handed it to Connor.

"I'll think on it, and I will let you know come winter." He promised.

* * *

**Davensport Homestead - October 1784  
**

"These skins are very beautiful Connor. Thank you." Myriam held them up with the analytical eye of an expert hunter, the kill was clean, and the hide undamaged. These would fetch a fair price on the market.

"You're welcome Myriam," Connor replied earnestly. "It is the least I can do, I didn't give you and Norris a proper wedding gift after all."

"Well, in that case, it is long overdue." She joked, then grabbed Connor's forearm as he turned to leave. "Would you care to stay for a drink? It's been a while since you've been here. We can catch up on old times."

Connor grinned, "I'd like that. But don't think it will give you an advantage in our game."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Myriam smirked. Ever since she came onto the homestead, she and Connor had been running up a tally of kills in the woods as a friendly competition of sorts, one that she was losing badly. Connor seemed to have a sixth sense, a third eye, when it came to finding and tracking animals in the woods.

Connor spent the evening revisiting the households of the homestead, to see how everyone was doing. He thanked Doctor Lyles for all the help and care he had shown him during the years, from stitching up knifes wounds to pulling out bullets. Ellen had fashioned him a new assassin's outfit, to replace the torn and worn down one he was wearing, which he accepted gratefully. The rest of the homestead welcomed him back with equal kindness, and he spent many a night drinking and feasting with them, recounting how they met and how they were building a new life for themselves on the homestead.

Although he no longer lived with his tribe, he couldn't help but feel a similar attachment to the people that lived here. Perhaps this was his new family after all.

The door to the church creaked open as Connor paid visit to another one of his close friends.

To everyone's surprise but his own, Connor found himself conferring with Father Timothy more and more as the seasons passed, not because he was interested in conversion, but with his clan mother moving on, as well as Achilles...he found Father Timothy to be the closest thing to an elder that he could seek guidance from, and whether they worshiped the spirits or this 'Christ' did not matter, the elderly still held wisdom of this world.

"It is good to see you again Father." Connor dipped his head respectfully as he entered.

"And you as well Connor." Father Timothy smiled genuinely, closing the bible he was reading and standing up to greet his friend.

Connor nodded gruffly, his face serious and heavy with thought.

"Is it a confession today then?" Timothy replied seriously. He had done a confessional with Connor once, when the young man revealed his guilt over having killed one of his closest friends. He was unable to provide the comfort the young man sought, but Connor was not the type to sit around and mope. Instead, he resolved to look forward, and find his own way to make amends.

"Just guidance." He said simply.

Father Timothy nodded with patience, gesturing at Connor to sit down. It was an odd sight, he thought, a young Mohawk covered with battle scars and weapons of war seeking refuge in a house of peace.

"I have a friend," Connor began. "Who wishes for me to journey to his land. To help him accomplish what we have done here, and bring freedom to his people."

"A very noble enterprise." Father Timothy replied thoughtfully, of all the people in the homestead he probably knew more of Connor's past than anyone else combined, and it amazed him. The young man trusted him though, and he honored it by keeping anything said between themselves only.

"When I began this journey many years ago." Connor said wistfully. "I was given a path to follow, the spirits showed me the way."

"And you see this as the same thing?" Timothy asked.

"I...I don't know. The spirits had spoken to me when I left my village, always watching me, guiding me. Now, I hear nothing. I feel nothing..."

Timothy nodded with sympathy, he too, had encountered many who felt that they've lost god's graces, even if Connor was referring to another spirit altogether.

"Some usually take it as if they are abandoned." Timothy said, finally. "But I tend to think of it as a sign of other things to come."

"A sign?"

"Guidance usually comes to those who need it, but I've known you for quite a while Connor. Maybe this...spirit, has decided that you have grown enough to make your own choice.

Connor nodded quietly, lost in contemplation. Words from the past echoing in a sea of thoughts.

_"It will never be enough, you strive for that which does not exist...still you have a difference, and you will do so again."_

_"I can have what I seek...had it even...but you...you're hands will always be empty..."  
_

"Can I still fight..." Connor mused softly. "Knowing that I will never see the fruits of my endeavors?"

"Would that stop a man from providing for his family even knowing that he may not live long enough to see his sons grow old? Sometimes Connor, we strive not because we choose to, but because we have to. It is our god-given duty."

"Yes, It is an obligation that I've been carrying for a while. To fight for the truth, always."

Father Timothy nodded. "And what is it you hold to be true?"

"That everyone should have a chance at freedom."

"The answer then, is yours to decide."

"I have responsibilities here." Connor said softly.

"Responsibilities passed on to you from Achilles, which I am sure we are more than capable of taking up in your stead." Timothy offered.

Connor nodded, hesitation still written on his face.

"It is not weakness to let go my son." Timothy continued, "Indeed, it is a sign of true strength. It's okay to trust others Connor, to share the burden that is too much for any one man to bear."

"It means I will be gone for a while."

Timothy smiled. "If, and I must stress, If that is what you decide, you will find us more than capable of managing the Homestead's affairs. We'll keep things in order until you return."

"I will have think deeply on this. Thank you father," Connor replied, standing up. "For your wisdom and guidance.""

"Always a pleasure Connor." Timothy smiled.

* * *

It was the last visit of the day that was the hardest for Connor, but the he put on a brave face as he climbed the hill leading up to the Mansion, and to the grave plots that sat behind the refurbished house. One of them was freshly dug, scarce a year ago, and that was where he made his stop.

"Hello old man..." Connor greeted the gravestone solemnly, kneeling down as he spoke. "I will be gone for a while. To support our brothers on the other side of the ocean, and to give hope to those who have never known it. I do not know if this is the right path, but you know that I've never been one to back away from a fight, especially if our enemies seek to rebuild their strength in the old world to come back and invade us."

He stood up, unsheathing a hatchet.

"I have left the homestead in good hands old man, they will do you proud. Just as I will strive to do. Farewell my brother...until we meet again."

As he passed the house, he eyed the post where he had made the first mark so many years ago, when William Johnson threatened to steal his peoples' lands away.

With great strength, he buried the hatchet into the wood once more. Then continued walking.

Like the war between the Templars and Assassins, his was a never ending fight, a never ending struggle.

And like always, he would rise to the challenge once more.

* * *

**New York - December 1784  
**

The bustling New York harbor was lively even in winter, merchants and farmers shuffled around the port market, selling their wares and securing their cargo against the blizzard winds with ropes and tarps. A forests of masts dominated the quiet New York skyline, as hundreds of ships of various sizes were at anchor, unloading their cargoes or being pulled ashore for cleaning and maintenance.

To Connor, the most familiar sight were the marching Continentals. Platoons of blue coated soldiers making their rounds and guarding the rooftops. Although he had fought mostly on the side of the colonists, there were instances were he had to cross them, and he watched the soldiers with a careful eye, as always.

He found Lafayette's ship at dock, _the __Nymph_, as his letter had instructed. Carrying a sack of goods that had been given to him by his friends at the homestead as a final farewell gift. At this moment, it probably consisted of everything he owned.

At the harbor however, he was treated to a most curious sight, a gruff Frenchman sitting impatiently on a crate at the gangplank.

"Stephane." Connor grinned as he greeted him. The fiery Frenchman was one of his closest friends, and a worthy ally in the fight against the British.

"It should be you coming with me, I could use some work on my French after all."

"Bah!" Stephane spat. "I came to Quebec to get away from the _connards_ (asses) in Paris, good luck getting me back there. Besides_ mon ami,_ I'm more useful to you here."

In that, Connor agreed.

"Stephane, you have been with me since the beginning. I leave the task of rebuilding the order in your hands. Carry on our work, look after our brothers and sisters, guide them, and see that this new land achieves the liberty it fought so hard for."

"I will not let you down Connor!" The Quebecois said confidently. "_Mon Mentor."_

"I know you will not." Connor extended his hand towards Stephane.

The frenchman grasped the hand firmly. "Nothing is true" He said fiercely with pride.

"And everything is permitted." Connor nodded. "May the spirits guide you as they have guided me, my brother."

The rest of the assassins gathered behind Stephane and watched solemnly as the man they had come to regard as a Mentor and friend boarded the ship.

"Connor! Welcome aboard." Lafayette gave his friend a pat on the shoulder, then led him on board. "The Nymph is not as swift as your Aquila, but she will bear us to France just as safely I assure you." Lafayette said jovially. "Now that you are here, we can depart."

Connor nodded, being a captain of his own ship, he was more than comfortable with his sea legs, he rested on the side of the ship as he stared out into the open sea, taking solace in its beauty.

A stray thought wandered in his mind, did his own father feel the same as he set sail across the waters? Not knowing whether he would return home or not...Regardless, he looked forward to the trip with much anticipation, even as_ the Nymph_ pulled out of New York harbor and towards the spraying seas of the east.

Towards the old World.

Europe.

* * *

**_Animus Database Entry - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings : The Treaty of Fort Stanwix 1784 _**

_The Treaty of Fort Stanwix was a treaty finalized on October 22, 1784, between the United States and Native Americans from the six nations of the Iroquois League. It was signed at Fort Stanwix, in present-day Rome, New York, and the first of several treaties between Native Americans and the United States after the American victory in the Revolutionary War. Since the status of Indian lands had been ignored in the Treaty of Paris, the treaty was intended to serve as a peace treaty between the Americans and the Iroquois, as well as for other Indian lands farther west, which the Iroquois had gained by conquest during the Beaver Wars of a century earlier. Ultimately, like everything in politics, it came to a dead end when the Six Nations claimed that the delegates they sent had no authority to give away land. At least they passed the time with rounds of drunken feasts, speeches and dancing. Now that's what I like to call productivity.  
_

* * *

_****__Animus Database ****__Entry_ - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings : Joseph Brant  


* * *

_Joseph Brant, or Thayendanegea, was a Mohawk war chief, Loyalist, statesman. Brant saw limited action during the Seven Year's War and was with our friend Sir William Johnson in the expedition against Ft Niagara in 1759. In 1761 Johnson sent him to Moor's Indian and Charity School at Lebanon, Conn, where he stayed for 2 years. In 1765 Brant married an Oneida and settled at Canajoharie in the Mohawk Valley. For nearly a decade, he acted as an interpreter for Johnson and his successor in the British Indian Dept, Guy Johnson; aided missionaries in teaching Christianity to the Aboriginal people, and helped translate religious materials into Mohawk. With the outbreak of the American Revolution, Brant immediately rallied to the royal cause and visited England in 1775-76 with Guy Johnson._

_On his return Brant fought throughout the war with an Aboriginal-Loyalist band. He was greatly admired as a soldier and was commissioned a captain by the British in 1780, but fought as a war chief. Beginning in 1783 and through the mid-1790s Brant worked to form a united confederation of Iroquois and western Aboriginal peoples in order to block American expansion westward. His dream ultimately was undermined by factionalist jealousies among the First Nations, by American opposition, and finally by British betrayal._

* * *

**My first attempt at an AC fanfic at a semi-sequel to AC 3, please let me know your thoughts :) I don't own AC or any of the characters.**


	2. Welcome to Paris

_"The journey across__ the Atlantic was__ arduous at best, with weeks on end spent wandering the same ship and eating the same dried meat. Although I had captained the Aqulia, I never imagined living aboard a ship for this long. It was a learning experience and I passed the days staring out into the open seas, helping the crew where I can, and training whenever I can. Lafayette spent much of it teaching me about his native homeland. Its history of wars, religion and strife. It is an old tale for me, of the few ruling the many, the rich starving the poor and the strong bullying the weak. Behind all this, I am certain, are the Templars. But before I can do anything to help my friend, I must do more to learn all I can about his homeland..."  
_

* * *

**Brest - January 25th, 1785**

A cannon-shot from a French Man-o-War announced the start of a new day for the French fleet, which anchored within the great fortress harbour of Brest. Within seconds of the first shot, the sounds of bare feet on wood were heard distinctly in the morning air, as the sailors prepared their ships for their drills. Pig-tailed sailors in white trousers and blue shirts scurried around the deck, while others, clinging on for their lives on the towering masts, sought to untie the sails and secure the rigging.

The fresh sea wind kept the men refreshed, and the soft gust of sea wind caressed the sailors as they worked. Meanwhile below decks, the marines and other sailor struggled as they gathered around the capstan, a huge winch with poles sticking out like an octopus, and they began the day by unceremoniously turning the huge winch to raise the anchor, inch by inch.

A small peg legged sea man sat on the circle in the middle of the capstan, jokingly playing tunes on his violin to set the pace and to encourage the men.

"Faster lads! You won't get to England at this rate!" The men cursed, and groaned as they slowly turned the huge wheel, they knew full well that the officers were having breakfast upstairs, and the smell of fresh cod filtered down into the ships lower decks, torturing the poor tars below.

All this of course, was just one little detail in the tapestry that was Brest; Aside from the bustling cityscape, there was the large arsenal, the dominating castle, and the massive harbor guns and stone fortifications made New York and Fort George seem like a wooden shack and shanty town by comparison.

"Welcome, to _La Belle France_ Connor!" Lafayette announced proudly as he led his friend down the gangplank onto the docks. "What do you think?"

Connor had seen nothing like it, not even in his first days visiting Boston in his youth and it took a few seconds before he realized that he had been staring with his mouth gaping open, he quickly cleared his throat. "It...It is amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

"Wait till we reach Paris _mon ami._" The Frenchman said with anticipation. "It is the center of Europe and the civilized world, it will make this look like nothing."

"I do not doubt it." Connor said softly, taking in the rich smells, sights and sounds as he stepped into the carriage with Lafayette. The porters spent the next few minutes loading the Frenchman's baggage before setting off. Connor heard the whip crack as the driver sped the carriage out of the dockyard, turning on to the roughly cobbled streets of the city.

It was a rough ride, and the wheels rattled on the cobblestones, shaking the carriage incessantly, while all around them, Connor saw nothing but a sea of humanity; from bakers, merchants, soldiers to orphaned children running around in the streets. Everything in fact, reminded him of his first visit to Boston, except...everything here was bigger.

"So how long to Paris?" Connor asked,

Lafayette laughed a little, amused at the wide eyed curiosity his home country had sparked in his friend. "A few days maybe, I have a lovely little apartment in the center of the city, you are welcome to stay there with my family. It has been some time since I've seen my wife, and I would love to introduce you to her."

"I would be honored to." Connor smiled.

"There is also an old friend who I think you would be interested in seeing as well."

"An old friend?"

"You'll know when you see him." the Frenchman smiled cryptically.

* * *

**Paris - February 1785**

Against all expectations, the city of Paris was even grander than the fortress-city of Brest. As they passed the great palaces and squares, the names became lost in the jumble as Lafayette excitedly told them in succession to the young Mohawk - The Tuileries, the Luxembourg, the Place Vendome, the Invalides. The gardens too, were a magnificent sight, and the first signs of the approaching spring thaw were evident as the first signs of color stabbed through the winter grass. The river, the Seine, as Lafayette called it, was impressive as well, passing through the city's heart, which was connected through five bridges. On it, he saw washerwomen making their rounds and fisherman working on the days catch, almost oblivious to the odors and waste coming from a slaughterhouse just down the river.

The majesty and beauty of the outskirts of the city however, were nothing like the crowded city center. Downtown Paris was literally a jumble of narrow streets and four or five story buildings with pointed roofs built in the traditional European style (which made it perfect to climb or free run, he figured).

In fact, it was so crowded, he was only able to get a small glimpse of the famous, Notre Dame, a beautiful cathedral that towered above the city, before he was once again lost in the cluster of tiny crowded streets and buildings. People swarmed the streets, and there were several instances when Connor thought they would run over someone for sure, but somehow, in the swirl of horses, carriages, carts and people, they waded through. Some swift Parisans even darted in front of the carriage, narrowly avoiding being hit before slipping into a narrow passageway.

The sounds of wheels and horses on cobbled stones, and shouting men in French and other languages of Europe was deafening. Even more powerful was the smell; manure, excrement being dumped from the windows and courtyards, fresh blood from the butcher's shop and perfumes from the far east all came together in an exotic and potent mix.

Around him, he also saw people from all walks of life, poets chatting at a cafe, street singers and beggars, stilt walkers and entertainers. His trained eye too, caught the sight of several pickpockets waiting outside the doors of luxurious hotels, hoping to brush along someone passing by.

White coated soldiers, French regulars, patrolled the streets in force, a grim reminder of the authority of the King as well.

It wasn't long before the carriage made its stop at a modest apartment deep within the city. At the address of 183 rue de Bourbon.

"Welcome my friend, to _Hôtel de La Fayette_." Lafayette introduced his lodgings to Connor with a sweeping bow. "You are of course, welcome to stay here while you are in Paris. At least, until I show you my family's chateau."

As the porter unloaded Lafayette's baggage, the doors to the apartment were opened by another servant, revealing a young and fair-looking Frenchwoman, and three children.

Lafayette glowed as he looked proudly at his family, and wasted no time in dragging Connor along.

"Connor, it is my pleasure to introduce to you my family. This is my wife, the love of my life, Madame Adrienne De La Fayette. Our children, little Georges Washington De La Fayette, my eldest daughter Anastasie. My other daughter, Virginie, as well."

Little Georges Washington, a boy of five, smiled ear to ear as he saw Connor. "_Papa! Is this the man you said who stabs people for a living and scalps them?"_

_"Hush boy! Don't be rude in front of our guest!"_ Lafayette replied furiously in French, thanking god that Connor at least, couldn't hear what Georges just said.

_"Let him have his fun dear."_ His wife smirked, then looked towards Connor with a smile. She spoke in English for his benefit.

"A pleasure _monsieur._" Madame Adrienne bowed gracefully, extending her hand towards Connor, who politely bowed to kiss it.

"_Vous me semblez très jolie aujourd'hui madame, enchanté." _Connor said effortlessly, which pleasantly surprised everyone. Well. Almost everybody.

"You speak French?!" Lafayette felt himself going pale, half surprised, and somewhat horrified that Connor understood the last exchange.

"My mother was very talented." Connor explained with a smirk. "My people have had dealings with both the French and English so she figured it best that I know a little of both. Just never had the chance to use it much."

"A pleasure indeed Connor." Adrienne chuckled, replying in French "So it seems you are a hero, a soldier, a Mohawk and a gentlemen as well." She gave Lafayette a teasing look. "You must bring more of your friends for me to meet, if they are half as charming as Connor."

Lafayette flushed a bit at that remark.

"My husband has told me many things about you, more precisely, how you saved his hide back in America. Which I must thank you for, by the way."

"Your husband is too kind madame." Connor chuckled, the tension easing out of his voice. "I was merely doing my part to help my adopted people."

Sensing that this was the best moment for a tactical withdrawal, Lafayette quickly cleared his throat.

"About that tour Connor, let us continue. I think it is time for our children to take a nap non?" he quickly swept Connor into the courtyard, returning an equally teasing glare to Madame Lafayette before continuing.

"Your wife is very lovely." Connor smirked.

"_Oui,_ indeed." Lafayette half grumbled as he walked down the hallway and towards the study.

It was there where Connor was treated to a most curious sight. An old man sitting at a couch, with a fur cap and simple brown coat that made him seem like a colonist living on the frontier. That was not far from the truth perhaps.

"I see that our young friend has mastered the French art of conversing with the ladies." The man chuckled softly. "A most delicate and important skill I must admit, having been there myself."

At this point, Lafayette regained his composure, and smiled as he led Connor into the room.

"I know you haven't met face to face, but I know you've corresponded with him during your time in Boston. Connor, I am pleased to finally introduce to you, Doctor Benjamin Franklin."

"Good to finally put a face to the name Connor," Franklin shook Connor's hand enthusiastically. "Of course, you have my eternal gratitude and thanks, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been able to finish that blasted Almanac."

"It was my pleasure, I do what I can to help." The young assassin replied.

"If only your kind were more common in the world, I would not doubt the revolution need not have happened in the first place. You are of the Iroquois of course?"

"Mohawk." Connor replied.

"Mohawk..." Franklin nodded in contemplation. "Ah yes...a very noble tribe. I am glad to have you on our side good sir. As you can see from my attire, I can probably fit right in. And you as well my friend! French society seems to think its a requirement for high fashion these days to copy me. Nothing like a fur cap for that bit of the new world rustic look."

Connor grinned as he took in Doctor Franklin's attire. Indeed, the man dressed simple enough to be living on the frontier in a wooden cabin, not in the middle of one of the world's most luxurious cities.

"Doctor Franklin is the American Ambassador to France at the moment, a great honor. So if you would like to pass by any letters to your homestead or friends back in the states, he can help you in those matters."

"At least, until my tenure is up." Franklin joked. "Of course, my replacement is coming soon, you should find him quite amiable as well. Jefferson...yes that fellow."

"In any case Doctor, perhaps I can trouble you to attend to our guest?" Lafayette asked. "Show him around the city, while I attend to my matters of state."

"Of course," Franklin replied. "I may even have an experiment I can use your help on my good man. In fact, let us get started on it tomorrow!"

The Frenchman nodded. "Good! Then I leave you to your devices for now."

Before he left, Lafayette placed a hand on Connor's shoulder, this time his eyes were serious.

"Connor, I will let you know when the time is right for us to speak of the matter which I've called you here for. But first, I need to get my affairs in order, especially at court. For now though, enjoy Paris! See the sights and sounds!"

"I will my friend." Connor replied, then smirked. "In fact, I think tonight is the good night for some exploring."

* * *

Paris was quite a city, especially at night.

Thousands of candle lamps lit the street, bathing the city in an eerie glow. From his perch at the top of the Notre Dame cathedral, he took the entire sight in with relish. He also took the opportunity to study and memorize the various pathways and winding streets illuminated by the street candles, making a map within his memory for future reference. It was an old habit, but one that could prove useful in a new city, especially if he were to stay here for a while.

The night was cool, a slight breeze blowing through the city as the last of the shops were closing up. Merchants were putting away their wares while one by one, the distant candles became snuffed out as the city watch replaced them for the next day. The city was falling asleep.

Which made it the perfect time to explore.

Connor quickly jumped from his perch, executing a perfect swan dive as he aimed for the nearby cart of hay at the base of the cathedral. Landing smoothly into the cart, he quickly brushed off the haystacks from his hooded uniform as he ran for the nearest building, climbing up it using the many handholds provided to him by window sills and signs. It was much easier than back in Boston, he reckoned, where most of the building sides were solid brick.

Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, street to street, it was amazing how large the city was. Connor reckoned he could jump for a year and still not hit all the houses and rooftops the city had to offer. Working in Paris then, would take some time.

Figuring that he had enough running on rooftops, he quickly landed into a nearby alleyway, narrowly dodging a platoon of white coated regulars along the way. It was a pattern he was getting used to. Something was definitely going on in the city, there were enough soldiers here to make the occupation of Boston seem tame.

As he walked down the alleyway (usually it was a dangerous thing to do at night, and alone, but he had reason to feel safe), he heard a series of footsteps behind him, a soft thud that told him someone had landed right behind him.

In the blink of an eye, Connor unsheathed his hidden wrist blade. His elbow made contact with the solar plexus of the stranger behind him, pinning him against the wall even as he stretched the blade out at his throat.

"Wait!" the man garbled. "_Monsieur Connor?"_

"Yes..." Connor replied cautiously, narrowing his eyes as he studied the man. "That's me. How do you know my name, _monsieur_? And why are you following me?"

"Word of mouth actually." The man surprisingly, despite having a blade held to his throat, grinned. "You were a pain to follow_._ Very few of us could move like that. But I figured this was the best time to meet you."

"You still haven't answered my question." He said angrily, pressing the blade more tightly against the man's throat. "If you desired to meet me, why here and not at my lodgings? and at this hour?"

The Frenchman smiled calmly. "Let us just say my existence is not appreciated by his majesty's soldiers, or the government in general."

Connor stared intently at the man, then spoke softly and with conviction. _"Rien n'est vrai"_ (nothing is true)

_"Tout est permis_. (everything is permitted)" The man finished, then gasped as Connor let go of the man, but still holding his blade in case.

"It is great to see someone from the colonial order." The stranger replied.

"How did you find out I was here?" Connor asked suspiciously.

"Ah, the innocence of youth. We've been tracking you since you left the boat at Brest."

"You said you had some business with me? _monsieur..._" Connor said cautiously.

"Please. Call me Arnaud. Arnaud Giuseppe. And yes we do, I'm just curious that's all. How a fellow member of the order is here finding himself in Paris, in the company of one of the King's men."

_King's men? Would he be talking about...  
_

"You mean Lafayette?" He replied, not liking where this was going.

"The very same." Arnaud replied. "He's a professed Royalist, and you know what they are like and what they stand for."

"I can assure you that he is not a Templar, and nothing like them, if that is what you are insinuating." Connor said gruffly.

"Indeed? Even so, your association with him raises many questions among us. Disturbing questions..." Arnaud continued.

Connor however, was in no mood to defend his innocence, and was in even less of a mood to hear someone slander his friend. "If your spies are as good as they claim, then you will know that the last two grand masters of the Templar Order died by my hand. Including my own father."

"I know that very well." Arnaud acknowledged with another smile. "In fact, I knew your father myself. His death, and Charles Lee's was a boon to our cause. That is why you are still alive right now. For the moment at least."

Connor tensed up a bit at the last line, and he held the knife steady.

"Relax...relax!" Arnaud laughed heartily, "I was just joking. Think of it as a test. To see what our colonial brethren are made of."

Arnaud backed away, hands high in the air to show that he was unarmed. "Very well Connor, I accept that you are one of us. And that your...friend, is safe for now. But what will you do if your friend turns Templar?"

"That will never happen." Connor said confidently.

"What if it were to?"

"Then I would have to do my duty."

"Ah...spoken like a true Assassin. Very well Connor. That is satisfactory." The man smiled, pulling out a concealed bottle of rum and uncorking it. "We will allow your friend to move unharmed then." Arnaud continued, but the amusement soon left him and his tone became deathly serious as he uttered the next phrase.

"But if I ever see your friend, or you turn against the people of France. I won't hesitate to cut your throat. Even if you are of the brotherhood."

Connor nodded grimly, he too, would have issued the same warning. "I understand, and you have no need to worry." He replied, equally serious.

The smile came back to Arnaud's face. "Excellent. A toast then! To France! May her people soon be free!"

Arnaud drank a big gulp, before handing the bottle to Connor, who also took a small drink, his eyes never leaving the man.

"We will meet again, if you ever wish to contact us, or require our assistance, you may find us in any of the coffee shops in the city. Simply ask for _Citizen Schaefer._" Arnaud smirked, producing a card for Connor and patting him on the back as he took it.

As Arnaud turned, he gave a low bird whistle as he walked away from Connor and into the streets. At that moment, Connor looked at the rooftops directly above the alleyway, where the shadows of four men armed with muskets stood, bathed in the moonlight; all aiming their guns downward at him.

"What?" Arnaud gave an innocent shrug. "You didn't really expect me to put myself at your tender mercies did you?" The Frenchman laughed heartily. "Until we meet again _mon frere_ (my brother), _bon chance! a_nd welcome to France!"

Connor watched uneasily as the man left with his cohorts. He had made contact with the brotherhood in Europe, that at least was accomplished fairly quickly. But still, the words the man spoke made him feel uneasy. Lafayette...a royalist and templar? No, that can't be true. Lafayette was not that kind of man.

He too had another name on his list... this Ci_tizen Schaefer, _

_Another name for another day. _He reckoned._  
_

* * *

**_Animus Database Entry - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings : The City of Paris  
_**

Paris is the capital and largest city of France, situated on the river Seine, in northern France, at the heart of the Île-de-France region. It has a population of over 500,000 by this time in the 18th century. Apparently not too shabby a place to live at this time, even if it was French and all. It served as an important settlement of France for more than two millennia, by the 12th century, it one of Europe's foremost centres of learning and the arts and the largest city in the Western world until the 18th century. For all it's beauty and grace however, it was also center stage for the absolutist monarchies and their corrupt governments. It was a popular saying among peasants at those times that France was both blessed by god, and cursed by Paris.

Kind of like Europe as a whole, except with the French.

* * *

**A/N: **After doing some more research, I'm more than convinced the next game should be in France. I mean, Benjamin-freaking-Franklin is in Paris at this time period!

I think it's not much a stretch to say Connor speaks French. The Iroquois (and Mohawk by extension) after all, dealt with both the French and the English and if Ziio was insistent enough to teach Connor English when he was five, she must have squeezed some French in there as well. At least that's the most logical thing i can think of, I'm still wondering how Ezio learnt to speak turkish in Constantinople for revelations =S

* * *

**Wow thanks everyone for the awesome faves/follows/reviews!**

lemonandpearl: Yes, and much more epicness to come :D Thanks for the review!

teno-hikari: If we go by the pattern set by ubisoft and Ezio, i'm very confident this is where the series will go :D hopefully . Thanks again, i try to keep it as canon as i can!

Nerdman3000: Thanks for the review (and awesome title shot), I'll update as often as i can, hopefully pretty regularly.

Guest: Thanks! I'm flattered that you think it feels like a sequel :D Hopefully it stays that way**  
**

will zona: Thanks for the comments! I haven't read that actually, I'll be sure to catch it :) i can always use more inspiration and i've been trying to find an AC fic to follow for awhile

BananaJimJams: Thanks for the review! Stay tuned for more :D

thewriter1713 : The one thing i wish AC3 did was show us more interaction between Connor and the homestead characters :) but i'm glad you liked it!


	3. A Familiar Enemy

_note: A big thanks to nerdman3000 for the awesome AC3 logo with the french fleur-de-lis ;)_**  
**

* * *

**Paris - Summer 1785**

The weeks passed without much incident following his brief encounter with the Brotherhood. He had been receiving regular letters from Lafayette, detailing how he had buried himself in the workings of the court at Versailles, telling Connor that he would see him again as soon as he was ready. He also filled Connor in on what he was planning to do. The King, it was rumored, was ready to call the first Parliament in over two hundred years, where representatives across the nation would convene.

This was an irresistible opportunity and Lafayette's plan was to build up his own political caucus and gather those who supported reform for the people on his side. Connor's role, he continued on, would crucial and he would fill him in when he returned in the coming weeks. This in itself, was enough to dispel any doubts Connor had in his friend being a Templar, surely Templars do not care for the plight of the ordinary people?

With that settled, his thoughts weighed on other matters...

On the other hand, he had heard nothing more from Arnaud and his fellow brothers of the order, but even so, Connor had the feeling that they were being watched at Lafayette's estate, even if he couldn't see them, but as long as they were not hostile, he didn't let it bother him. In time, they would see reason, he believed.

In the meantime, Connor explored, watching from the rooftops above as he witnessed the struggles of the citizens. For all its splendour and majesty, Paris was filled with its share of poverty as well, and there were many instances where he saw crowds of starving families and orphans throwing themselves at the gates of government buildings, pleading for scraps to eat, or even to protest and demonstrate, but the doors stayed locked, their pleas and shouts falling on the deaf ears of armed guards.

Some of these confrontations escalated into riots, which were quickly stamped out by French troops. But the situation became so bad, that Lafayette temporarily sent his family away to their Chateau in the countryside until the upheaval blew over.

It seemed all too similar to Boston, and Connor hoped he would be able to make a difference soon.

When he wasn't exploring, he was devoting his time to assisting Benjamin Franklin with his experiments. In his short acquaintance with him, he found the old man to be quite enjoyable company, and Franklin seemed to derive enjoyment in sharing his founts of wisdom with the young Mohawk in almost every category of academia or everyday advice. Connor found himself grinning when the good doctor once explained concisely the eight reasons why it was more advantageous to go for older women as opposed to the younger ones.

Today however, the experiments took a more interesting turn.

The wind howled wildly, swaying the contraption from side to side as Connor struggled to keep the ropes tethered together, at the same time, he was holding a flame to the center, which was just as vital.

Being at least several hundred feet off the ground and all.

"Excellent Connor, keep her steady!" Franklin yelled from the balcony, taking measurements with a variety of instruments and making notes in a ledger while the young Mohawk struggled with the ropes above. "How's is the view up there?"

"A little windy, Doctor Franklin, but she'll manage!" Connor yelled with a small smirk on his face. He had learned long ago to refer to any type of vehicle, whether it be a cart or a ship, as a 'she'. He felt nervous at first trying this out, remembering his own rotten luck with an old flying machine design back home, but when the good doctor assured him that there would be no jumping off of cliffs or rooftops involved, Connor decided he had nothing to lose in trying.

And what a marvel it was. He thought. On the ground, he saw a virtual sea of humanity in the streets as Parisians gathered to watch the flight of the famous balloon that Doctor Franklin was raising.

It was an interesting invention. A giant, circular craft that seemed to defy gravity itself. It was beautifully decorated, with the facings of the French Flag, the Fleur-de-lis, gold silk lining, as well as the face of the French King, whom Connor had learned was called King Louis XVI.

This 'hot air balloon', as Franklin called it, also allowed Connor to get a great view of the outlying districts and the rest of the city during the day time, which he quietly transposed over what he remembered that night at the Notre Dame. It was a useful invention, in that sense.

"I think that is enough for one day Connor!" Franklin yelled, "You can bring her down now!"

Connor nodded, remembering the instructions that Franklin told him, he slowly put out the flames in the center of the craft, lowering the amount of hot air into the balloon, which began a soft descent. It didn't take long before the majestic skyline of Paris vanished, giving way to the modest and small back yard of Lafayette's apartment.

It was an amazing experience, although he was glad to have his feet back on solid ground.

"What did you think?" Franklin smiled genially as he stepped down to the balloon. "You should count yourself very lucky Connor, you may be only the fourth person to be on one of these."

"It was amazing..." Connor said with awe. "And you invented this?"

"I simply financed it, the credit goes to the Mongolfier brothers." He smiled.

Franklin indeed, was much taken in by the whole experiment and concept.

"Can you imagine Connor, to be able to see everything around you for miles around without even stepping foot outside your back yard? Or being able to fly from one destination or another? Why, this could revolutionize human transportation." The good doctor said proudly as he took off his spectacles and began wiping them.

"I would like to see that." Connor said, genuinely curious what that would look like, a sky full of these big, unwieldy contraptions.

"They say such a balloon has no practical uses," Franklin said gruffly, disliking the skepticism of some of his peers. "but the same can be said for a newborn baby, what use is that?" He smiled ironically.

Connor nodded in agreement. In that, at least, they were similar. He preferred to open his own mind to the ideas of the world, instead of being stuck in the trappings of the past.

"You are as wise as they say Doctor." The young man said with admiration. "Perhaps you can invent some more tools for my people when you return to America."

"Please... there's nothing special in what I do." Franklin said modestly. "Simply find a need in this world, and create something to fill it it. Anyone can do it! For instance..._What if we put this refuse inside a receptacle? My god sir, you've just invented sanitation!" _He crooned in jest, to which Connor laughed.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a musket shot sounded, cracking the air like a whip.

Both men fell silent, staring at the direction of the sound.

"What do you suppose that was?" Franklin muttered.

"I don't know." Connor said, hardening his gaze, "But I intend to find out."

Before Franklin could say anything more, Connor had already bolted across the yard, jumping gracefully over the fence, and into the streets beyond.

* * *

The streets ahead of him were thronged with a sea of people, and Connor decided that was less conspicuous if he moved across the rooftops. Quickly grappling onto a second floor balcony as he ran, he pulled himself up and proceeded to climb to the roof.

The rooftops of this area of Paris were tiled, from the grander and more impressive houses, and he negotiated the winding streets and rooftops with ease until he finally came to the source of the trouble.

"Disperse you scoundrels!" An authoritative voice came from the officer in question, holding a pistol in the air. The gathering mob surrounded the band of soldiers warily, anger written on their faces, but they were obviously kept in check by the soldier's muskets.

On the ground immediately in front of the officer, was a Frenchwoman, her hand held against her bloody cheek. She didn't wear the dress of a Parisian woman, instead, she wore a heavy cloak.

From his vantage point above, Connor observed the rest of the scene. Counting the officer, there was a platoon of French Regulars, at least nine of them. They seemed different from the white coated troops he had seen earlier, sporting instead a dark blue uniform. The men seemed to be rummaging through a printing press office, throwing out pamphlets and shattering the doors and windows in the hopes of finding something.

"Where is it?!" The officer said angrily towards the girl, lifting her up by the wrist and whipping the stock of his pistol across her face.

The girl's face was bruised and bloody, but she was defiant, not saying a word.

"Very well then..." The officer said, cocking the pistol and aiming it at the girl's face. "Let it be known that this is the fate of those who betray their-!"

Before the officer even had a chance to finish, a rope dart shot from the roof tops, wrapping itself around the officer's neck and digging into his throat. The man's eyes barely had time to widen in comprehension before he suddenly jerked upwards, disappearing in a flash and dropping his pistol and sword.

All eyes turned above, and the soldiers cordoning off the crowd watched with amazement as their officer's lifeless body dangled from one of the street signs of a nearby fourth story building.

With all eyes focused on the officer, no one had noticed a man in a white hooded uniform jacket emerge from the crowd, walking behind one of the soldiers as he gazed upwards. The soldier suddenly felt a hand come over his mouth as a stranger wrapped his arm around his face from behind, but before he could speak or even shout, a hidden blade from his assailant's other arm stabbed just under his armpit with blinding speed, piercing the arteries of his heart and snuffing out his life.

Before the man even collapsed on his feet, Connor grabbed the soldier's musket, walking steadily as he aimed it at another soldier.

"We're under attack!" A corporal pointed at Connor, but before the other French regulars could react, Connor pulled the trigger. The musket lashed out a tongue of flame, slamming into his shoulders as the corporal's head flew backward in a spray of blood.

The French soldiers were alert to the danger now and they rushed Connor, but he had already closed the distance with three lightning fast strides. He chucked the musket like a spear, taking one of the Frenchmen in the chest with the bayonet blade, then he crossed his arms as he ran, pulling his tomahawk out with one hand, and a sword from his sheath with the other, to counter the two regulars that were closest to him.

He blocked the first assailant with his tomahawk, and the sound of steel ringing on steel filled the air. Noticing that the man had overstretched his lunge, Connor pulled his weapon back, punching the man in the neck as the man fell forward, off balance. He then turned, feeling his sword arm twitch as his other opponent made contact, but not before he sliced his first opponent's throat with the blade of his tomahawk, the man almost spun as he was flipped onto the ground, dead.

The second opponent shouted a challenge as he drew back, aiming to skewer Connor where he stood. But his ears caught onto something else in the background, another french corporal shouting orders.

_"En Joue!"  
_

He turned his head quickly, and saw that the other four French soldiers had lined up professionally, training their muskets at him.

Training and instinct took hold as he quickly used the Tomahawk to latch onto the musket of the soldier he was facing, pulling the man forward while he sidestepped behind him, his sword arm wrapping itself neatly around his throat as he spun the soldier around, facing the firing squad.

"_Tirez!" _The corporal yelled, realizing too late that the man had used their comrade as a human shield.

The four muskets belched smoke, and Connor felt the satisfying slap of musket balls on the flesh of the man in front of him, now was his chance. Dropping the dead man, he sheathed his sword and tomahawk and rushed through the smoke. As he emerged through the fog of gunpowder, Connor jumped off a nearby stack of crates in the street, catching the reloading soldiers by surprise from above. He thrust the palms of his hands into the faces of two of the men in the center of the line and slammed them into the cobble stone streets below. A slight jerk of his fingers was all it took to stab their throats with his hidden blades.

Within that split second, Connor instinctively rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the bayonet thrust of the soldier beside him, and without looking, he unsheathed his tomahawk, and buried it into the small of the man's back. The French soldier screamed, falling to his knees and Connor wasted no time dispatching him.

As he stood up, the last French regular, watching with disbelief as he saw eight of his comrades killed within the span of less than a minute, did the only thing a sensible man would do.

He dropped his musket, turned tail, and ran, to the delight and jeers of the crowd, who started cheering on Connor.

The Mohawk however, took no pleasure in the kills and no notice of the crowd. He quietly sheathed his weapons, walking towards the young lady who lay on the street, her eyes completely shocked at what had just transpired.

"Are you alright?" Connor asked with concern as he knelt down to face the girl. She had faced down a platoon of French regulars by herself, that alone was admirable.

"Yes..._Monsieur._ You have my thanks." She said meekly, trying to pick herself up, but still somewhat dazed.

Connor, ever the gentlemen, took her by the arm and propped her up. She was young, a teenager by the looks of it. Although her face was bruised from the stock of the man's musket, she held back her tears bravely.

"Is this sort of thing common around here?"

The girl raised her eyebrows a bit at that remark. This one was obviously fresh off the boat, as they say.

"Oui. Sadly more than ever. Especially with the food shortages and the taxes. The people starve in the streets and the nobles do nothing but spit at them. The King thinks he can bully us with his soldiers but he is sorely mistaken."

Connor nodded in sympathy. "Especially if they are all as brave as you. What is your name_ madame_?"

The girl seemed cautious at first, but then she saw the symbol on his hood, recognition lighting up on her face.

"Charlotte..." She murmured.

"Well, let's get that wound treated then Charlotte. My lodgings are nearby, and I have a friend who can help you." He said earnestly.

"_Non_, I cannot." She shook her head sharply. "I am due to deliver some pamphlets to a my brothers. I cannot fail."

"You are in no condition to go anywhere right now." Connor noted. "If these are important, I will help you deliver these pamphlets Charlotte. You can trust me."

She gritted her teeth, knowing he was right about her condition. As for trusting him. He seemed honest enough, but the symbol told her all she needed to know. She relented, producing a parcel beneath her cloak that she had hidden from the guards.

"Very well _monsieur." _Charlotte said softly, handing the parcel to him. "You have my thanks."

"The packages can wait." Connor insisted, "Come, I'll take you somewhere safe to have those wounds treated."

* * *

Before he set off, Connor had carried Charlotte back to Lafayette's apartment, where Doctor Franklin didn't seem to mind at all at having to look after the rather charming young lady while Connor ran his errands.

The addresses on Charlotte's pamphlets contained the locations of several cafe houses around Paris, three to be precise. It did not take Connor long before he covered the ground to each one, jumping from rooftop to rooftop before landing near the doorways of each location. At first, the men accepting the packages looked upon him with suspicion, but as soon as they saw the symbols of the assassin order on his hooded jacket, they let him pass.

"_Liberté_, is upon us soon, my brother." One man whispered mysteriously as he accepted the first parcel, then closed the door.

The second cafe, located near a cheap and grimy hotel near the Invalides, offered a different message.

"égalité, for all to come, my brother." The man nodded solemnly as he took the pamphlets, closing the door with barely a whisper.

The final and last stop was near the Notre Dame, at a small coffee shop beside a subscription library, and the last man who took it also gave him a different message, but it was a familiar face all the same.

"And Fraternité...Brotherhood between the peoples and nations of the world, my brother." Arnaud opened the door with a grin. "Welcome Connor! To be honest, I expected you here sooner."

"Arnaud." Connor greeted him, somewhat cautiously. "What is the meaning of this?"

The Frenchman smiled, quickly inviting Connor into the coffee shop where it was safer to talk. Around them were dozens of people, both young and old, chatting and conversing pleasantly. This, it seemed, was a perfect spot to meet in secret.

"Surely you have heard of this? Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood. This is the song of our people, and of our order. It represents everything we strive for and everything that France is deprived of right now."

"Then Charlotte...is an assassin?" Connor inquired.

"A novice." Arnaud admitted, then frowned as he recalled how she had fallen so easily into the Royalist trap, and he would have intervened had it not been for Connor's timely arrival.

"But she is one of the Brotherhood all the same. My men have already picked her up from your friend's place. You have my thanks by the way."

The Frenchman sat at a nearby table, where he ordered several beers for himself and Connor.

"A toast again, to your successes, and for helping us this day." Arnaud said cordially, downing his own mug while Connor again, took a modest sip.

"For my brothers, I can do no less." Connor replied, easing the tension off his shoulders around the man he was slowly coming to see as a fellow of his order.

"To be honest, we thought it would take you longer before you came running into our arms." He joked. "But seeing as your friend Lafayette is occupied at the moment, why not work with us to free this city? Citizen Schaefer is most pleased with your efforts today. Whilst he does not trust you enough yet for a full meeting, you are nonetheless, considered one of our allies, if not an honorary member of the French Brotherhood."

"What exactly are you planning?" Connor asked,

"Why Connor, it's literally written in the very papers you delivered!" Arnaud smacked the pamphlet for emphasis, before opening it and showing it to Connor. The title of the document was 'A New Order'.

"France is sick _mon ami_. As you have seen from the evidence outside." The Frenchman began gloomily. "We are being crushed by a corrupt and Templar-infested government that is giving every advantage to those in power, while squeezing the very last franc from the purses of the poor, and the very last scrap of bread from their mouths."

"It is the same story not just here, but across the continent. The King and his nobles, along with the church, control everything, and they refuse to relinquish their power and privileges to help the common man, even as the majority cry out for a reprieve, for someone to put an end to the suffering." Arnaud's voice was laced with venom at the last comment.

"That is why I am here to help." Connor insisted.

"I believe you my friend." Arnaud smiled. "Which is why we're getting drunk at this table right now!"

"That includes my friend Lafayette too, he can be a great ally to your cause." Connor pressed, remembering his own friend's plans for helping the citizens. If anyone could use the support of the order, it was Lafayette.

Arnaud almost spat at the name. "Another nobleman who treats those beneath him little better than animals."

Having had enough, Connor stood up.

"I will not sit here and listen to you accuse my friend of treachery. Lafayette braved British ships and capture to fight for my people. Slander him again, and you will answer to me." He said darkly, staring intently at Arnaud.

After what seemed like an eternity, Arnaud relented with a sigh.

"Fine Connor! It goes against my better judgement but I will trust your instincts towards that man, for now. As you say, we won't just tolerate him, we will... work together." He said rather uneasily, not used to the concept of working _with_ the nobility.

"Of course, after all, are you not all in this together?" Connor reaffirmed.

"You make a valid point. Very well, we will trust Lafayette to convince those who would listen. While we... " Arnaud ran his finger across his neck with a smirk. "will slit the throats of those who don't."

Connor nodded, settling back down into the chair and reading over the pamphlet again.

"There's another thing. Your men, and yourself said several messages to me as I dropped off the packages. Are they also part of this secret plan you have?"

"Ah...you mean Liberté, égalité, Fraternité." Arnaud whispered the three words, almost reverently. "No. This is not a secret. Far from it. We want everyone to hear them. These are the watchwords that will free our fellow brothers and sisters; that will provide the foundations upon which we will build a new nation, one unshackled by the chains of the Templars."

He spoke intensely, the passion once again returning to his voice.

"They are powerful ideas Brother, ideas that one can live by. And if need be, are worth dying for."

* * *

**Versailles, later that night  
**

The hallowed halls of the Palace echoed loudly with footsteps as the officials went about their kings business. The Royal Guards, resplendent in their uniforms, held their muskets in salute as more of the king's representatives passed. Amidst the sea of nobility and courtiers, a conversation between three men went unnoticed.

"The Grand Master is not pleased with our progress gentlemen." The first Frenchman stated flatly to the two older Frenchmen accompanying him. One was an older man in his mid fifties, he was well built, and resplendent in the uniform of a French Colonel. While the other was slightly younger, his mid forties, but slightly plumper, and adorned in the finery of a French nobleman.

Although both of the men were older than the first Frenchman, and technically outranked him, they walked in fear of him, for he held the true rank that counted: the one within the Order. He was the Grand Master's right hand man, known only to them as, "Le Saint".

"The riots and the insurrectionists are gaining too much ground." Le Saint said harshly, "and your men have failed to stem the tide of anti-government pamphlets."

"I have doubled the patrols as we speak, your eminence." The Colonel said firmly.

"That is not enough!" Le Saint replied. "We must stamp out the source of this propaganda."

The Colonel fell silent at the outburst, hanging his head low.

"It would be easier," The nobleman mused. "If we had the funds and resources to gather allies."

Le Saint cursed lightly, knowing that it was a problem the Templar Order had never encountered up until now. A lack of funds. Funds that would have procured the soldiers, the politicians and the nobles that would keep the French monarchy in power and the people in check.

The Colonel spat as the group passed out of the hallways, and into the gardens.

"Damn that Haytham! He is the reason our control over the country is slipping. If it weren't for him and his 'dream' of building a Templar Republic in America, we wouldn't have beggared the French treasury supporting his American Revolution!" The Templar Colonel said venomously.

Le Saint sighed in annoyance, for much of what he had said was true, but their brothers in Britain would provide for the shortfall, he figured. After all, nationality mattered little when it came to the Order.

"Haytham was a former Grand Master of the Order..." Le Saint began softly, his voice low and grave.

"And more than that, he was our fellow brother in arms, even if he was English. You will not speak ill of him again, or of the dead already passed. Is that understood?" The words were laced with venom, and both Frenchmen knew better than to speak up about it again.

"We will redouble our efforts gentlemen and look forward. Nothing has changed. We have been the _**éminence grise**_ behind the throne for centuries and we will continue to remain so." Le Saint added. confidently.

"Still, we are left with Haytham's ghost." The nobleman remarked, if the rumors about this assassin were to be believed.

"_Oui_, it seems we have a new viper in our nest." The Colonel added. "I've lost a platoon to this assassin already this morning."

Le Saint eyed the old soldier. "Then do what we do with any viper, snuff him out, and kill him." he said impatiently.

"My men are already working on it." The Colonel reassured him.

"Good, and you _monsieur," Le _Saint turned to the nobleman. "Your duty is the same as ever. Redouble your guards on the vault, do not let anyone, outside of us, in. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your eminence." The nobleman replied.

Le Saint nodded, satisfied. "I have pressing matters in Brest to attend to and will leave in the morning, I trust you gentlemen will keep things in order while I am gone, until then, your immediate superior is the Count. Understood?"

Both the Colonel and the Nobleman nodded.

"Good. Until we meet again. May the Father of Understanding guide us." Le Saint uttered with reverence the time honored phrase of the Templars that stretched for several millennia.

Both men bowed. "May the Father of Understanding guide us."

Le Saint nodded quietly, withdrawing into the shadows of the garden as he left the two men behind. It dug into his core to play his fellow brothers like this, but with the Grand Master, he only owed his obedience. There were some in the Order who thought preserving the French Monarchy was the number one concern, but these men had long forgotten what it meant to be a Templar. They were too used to the comforts and pleasures of ruling, and failed to see the truth.

Whether or not the monarchy survived was moot to him, so long as the Order prevailed. Countries and cities, he found, can change hands just as easily as money. All that was needed was to make sure it was Templar hands who held the reins.

* * *

**Animus Database Entry : Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - French Guard (Gardes Françaises)  
**

The French Guard, or Gardes Française (God save me from typing anything more in French...) were the elite guard of the King's army. They were different from the white-coated regular infantry of the King's army, wearing instead the King's Blue (doesn't have quite the same ring as a good redcoat!). The guard consisted of six grenadier and 24 fusilier companies divided into six battalions, for a total of 3,600 hundred men. Grenadier guardsmen sported the high fur hats of their class, while the fusilier companies wore the standard tricorn of the French infantry. Admittance into the guard was considered an honor, and the colonel of the guards usually held the rank of Marshal of France, while captains in these companies usually were ranked as colonels in regular infantry.

Such was the prestige of this guard that in times of war, the Guard had the privilege of choosing their own battle positions, usually in the center of the first line of infantry (And probably dibs at the front when retreating! You know...being French and all). The guard too, was responsible for guarding the royal Palace of Versailles, along with the Swiss Guard. In addition, the French Guards had responsibility for maintaining public order in Paris, in support of the various police forces of the capital.

Like other soldiers of the era, the guards were drilled extensively in the use of the musket, to the point until they could load and fire their muskets with their eyes closed. A well-trained infantryman could average around three shots per minute from his musket, whereas a sub-par (i.e French) soldier could accomplish perhaps two. Officers of course, were armed flintlock pistols and sabers, although it was not unknown for light infantry officers to carry their own musket or rifles.

* * *

**Wow! Thanks everyone for the support and reviews! Ive never written this much in so little time, but then again, I've never gotten reviews like this before! so i'll do my best to please! I'm glad you're all enjoying reading this as much as i am writing it :)****  
**  


**iBayne : **Thank you! Thank you! :) yes, i'm actually hoping Ubisoft does something with Connor in Europe, everything about this setting just 'clicks' for an AC storyline.

I'm glad as well, that you enjoy the dialogue, I find it the hardest part to write. Shaun's entries in the animus are one of my favourite parts of the game :) I'm glad i'm at least able to almost get it down haha

**TheScoutAssassin** :Thanks! I'll write as much as I can, time permitting :) I do intend to cover as much of the revolution's events as I can, so yes, it includes more on that. As for Lafayette and the Templars...well...we'll see :)

**Nerdman3000** : Thanks so much for the graphic and the review :) Marie Antoinette being a templar? hmmm we'll see soon enough ;)

**will zona : ** I believe you are referring to Stephane no? I don't remember Lafayette being initiated into the Order, but since i did a speed run through the game i could just as easily have missed it =/

I did check out the wikia, thank you :) it helped with my entry for shaun !

**the writer 1713 :** Thanks! Glad you liked it :) AC3 didn't have quite as many humorous parts as AC2, so i'm hoping to add a bit to that here.

**BananaJimJams:** Thank you very much! :D hope you enjoyed this chapter.

**NinjaxSketcheartx: **Wow...first off, thanks very much for that indepth review! Glad you like the descriptions! I figure i have no choice since Ubisoft does such a great job of detailing each location in their games, it's a way to do that justice i figured.

I would say it is a stretch yes, but Ezio was able to pick up French so easily and apparently turkish in revelations ;) although Connor's not quite the player Ezio is, i'll say its a combination of Ziio and Achilles years of tutelage (which were conveniently left out of our gameplay :()

Glad you like Arnaud! You'll see more from him. and Lafayette soon enough!

**teno-hikari :** Thanks, glad youre enjoying this, and flattered you think i'm good enough to be an author haha :) I forgot all about Norris, but great point as well with Stephane! So glad that this is at least plausible :) Glad you liked Arnaud, get used to seeing him, I'm enjoying writing his character haha.


	4. A Royal Introduction

**Paris, late Summer 1785**

It surprised Connor how quickly he had adjusted to his new life in Paris. He still remembered the times back when he was a youth and everything was new, and how the streets of a city had enthralled him. He remembered the days when he could could sit all day on a fence or balcony and simply _observe_ the people passing by. Every interaction, whether it be a street vendor bartering or a town crier shouting the news, was something different, and it greatly stirred the young Mohawk's curiosity.

Now, a full grown man, he found that the initial wonder of the streets had dampened, but was nonetheless replaced by an appreciation for the beauty and complexity of a great city such as Paris.

After his meeting with Arnaud, the Paris Brotherhood had broken off contact again, content to let Connor explore the nook and crannies of the city while they plotted in the shadows, not ready to reveal their full plans to their colonial brother just yet.

While he wasn't exploring, he found himself passing the time doing errands around the city. Whether it was collecting more materials for Doctor Franklin's experiments, or even performing simple deliveries for couriers on the side (any excuse to allow him to gather as much information as possible.) During that time, he had managed to get a feel for the mood and politics of the city. The King's policies were deeply unpopular, as were the nobility, who paid no taxes yet lived in the lap of luxury while ordinary folk starved in the streets. It was something that dug deep against everything Connor believed in, and he found himself intervening in several instances, whether it was stealing food from a cart for orphaned children, or taking on a full platoon of French Regulars who were using their authority to abuse an already suffering family or citizen. It seemed too, that the army had taken notice of his actions, and wanted posters were spreading throughout the city, while the armed patrols had more than doubled in the last month. Although he had torn the majority of the posters down, he would have to remind himself to remain more inconspicuous.

Today however, was not a day for daggers and swords, for Benjamin Franklin had intended to introduce him to his replacement, before he left for America.

It saddened Connor to see the man he had come to view as his friend leave, but he also saw it as an opportunity to have him carry back a bundle of goods and gifts he had bought for his friends back at the homestead.

Franklin however, was not one to leave without saying farewell, and he did so with something Connor had never expected. An invitation to a royal ball.

"It's the most delightful thing in the world Connor. A grand ball!" Doctor Franklin said excitedly. He had led Connor to the tailors, who had fashioned him a dark blue gentlemen's outfit that reminded him much of his late father's.

"I am not sure I will fit in." Connor said uneasily as he walked alongside the Doctor with his stiff suit. Old habits however, die hard, and Connor still found a way to slip his hidden blade within the cuff links of the expensive attire.

"Nonsense my boy! Stick with me, and I will show you the wonders of Parisan society." The old man chuckled, as if recalling a faint memory. "In fact, your friend Lafayette insists you come as well, there was someone he wanted you to meet."

Connor nodded in response. Lafayette had told Connor that he intended to show him what part he would play in helping his homeland, perhaps this ball would be the perfect setting.

"Before we go though," Franklin paused before opening the door into his study. "There's one more person I would like you to meet. I guess it's appropriate after all, seeing as you'll be seeing him for quite some time when I'm gone."

The door opened, and Connor looked to see a thin man dressed in a fine suit and wig, his eyes very pensive and focused, as though he were studying Connor.

"Connor, allow me to introduce you to my replacement, and respected colleague. Thomas Jefferson. You will find him to be quite gifted with intelligence, as well as humility. A rare combination. He can assist you during your stay here should you ever have the need to write home."

"A pleasure." Connor extended a hand, which Jefferson grasped firmly.

"The pleasure is all mine sir." Jefferson replied. "Washington has told me much of your bravery and exploits at Monmouth, you have my thanks for contributing so much to our cause."

The mere mention of the man was enough to send a cold chill into Connor's spine. He and the General parted on less than cordial terms after Connor learned of the man's part in the raids on his tribe, and his mother's death, but he decided not to show it.

Completely unaware of the hostility, Jefferson also gestured towards his desk, where a bundle of packages sat.

"I think you'll also be happy to know that I've brought some letters and gifts from your friends at your homestead. You may open them whenever you wish." Jefferson said.

"Connor will attend to those in due time," Franklin propped a hand on Connor's shoulder and smiled. "After the ball."

* * *

As the carriage passed through the gatehouse of the palace, Connor shifted in his seat and looked eagerly outside. The hooves of the horse clattered loudly on the stone road of the courtyard that led to the vast open space of the famous Tuileries Garden. The center of the courtyard was a magnificent display of color and beauty, from the symmetrically laid out gardens of rare flowers and roses, to the various statues and fountains that dotted the landscape. Thousands of people congregated into the garden, aristocrats soldiers, clergy, merchantmen and bankers, disappearing into a mosaic of dresses and fine suits. Connor too, regarded closely several of the soldiers with dark blue uniforms patrolling the grounds. Although he wasn't dressed in his assassin's uniform, he mentally made a note of their numbers and patrol patterns, in case anything went wrong.

Connor too, found himself a little nervous, for this was his first true exposure to a social setting such as a ball. Navigating the terrain back home, with its lush forests, or leaf covered trails seemed like cake walk compared to navigating from one conversation to another or one drink after another in this setting. Doctor Franklin too, seemed to take some delight in his young friend's discomfort.

"Now Connor," Doctor Franklin began helpfully. "Remember what I said, be courteous and observe the protocols, however foolish they may seem. Keep a close eye on your hosts, be mindful that as my guest, you are considered a gentlemen."

The young Mohawk nodded, shifting uneasily in his stiff blue suit, it was easily the most flowery, but _constricting_ thing he ever wore.

"And good god man, relax a little! It isn't a crime to enjoy yourself! Who knows, you may even make some new friends here! I've learned from my time here that a man can use all the contacts he could make in the world!"

Connor smiled, somewhat embarrassed that the doctor had mentioned that. It was true, he never really had any time to settle down or 'have fun', not since he was a child. The days of his care-free youth seemed so distant. Despite the fact that this was meant to be a social setting, Connor had to take it seriously. He was here to meet Lafayette to discuss his plans for the future, and with the French Guards and the nobility (doubtless a few Templars in the mix as well), he would have to watch himself and make sure he did nothing foolish to draw attention to himself. It was the price of living in his secret world, to always keep an eye on one's back, and sometimes, he found himself being weary of it.

As the carriage drew up to the entrance to the party, a footman ran forward with a footstool and opened the door for himself and Doctor Franklin. Connor squeezed out of the carriage with little fanfare, standing guard while the porter stood up on the carriage and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Doctor Benjamin Franklin!"

At that, all the thousands of faces turned as one towards Connor and the Doctor, and they soon burst into applause and shouts. The Doctor was a popular man in France, and many of them were sad to see such a distinguished and honored guest leave, but they nevertheless, celebrated his achievements and time with the people of France with heart.

Connor meanwhile, groaned inwardly as a throng of people rushed them. _So much for being inconspicuous._

As Franklin became more and more embroiled in his throng of admiring fans and friends, shaking hands with the men and exchanging kisses with the ladies, Connor felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Quite something isn't it _mon ami?" _A familiar voice rang in his ears

Connor turned and saw a man with a friendly smile, wearing the uniform of a French General. "Lafayette, good to see you again my friend."

"_Oui__!"_ The Frenchman smiled, embracing Connor after shaking his hand. "It has been too long. I'm sorry for not being able to see you the last several months, I had several things I had to take care of at court." The Frenchman jerked his head towards Doctor Franklin, who was still surrounding by his adoring public. "But I hear the good doctor has shown you around our beautiful city?"

"More or less." Connor replied with a smirk.

"I am glad that you accepted my invitation Connor, to be honest, I didn't think you would come." The Frenchman confessed with an amused smile, seeing Connor dressed up as a fine nobleman instead of the battle-scarred Mohawk he came to know back in America.

"Doctor Franklin was most insistent." Connor replied, "Besides, you said you wanted to talk?"

"Of course!" Lafayette exclaimed, as though Connor had just reminded him. "Come, I want to show you some good friends of mine. Some of them have been dying to meet you."

"Then lead the way my friend." The young assassin replied, wondering just who might these people be.

* * *

Lafayette indeed, had connections, Connor mused. The French General had taken them away from the palace gardens, where most of the public had congregated around Franklin, instead, he took him inside the Tuileries themselves, passed several checkpoints of guards who raised their muskets in salute as Lafayette passed. The party, he explained, was going to be moved from the gardens to the palace once the initial festivities had concluded, but that didn't stop him from giving Connor a preview, as well as a tour of the interior of the palace.

As they passed the palace dining room, Connor found his own stomach growling as he gazed upon the magnificent banquet being prepared for the guests. There was fish, baked in herbs, beef pastries with brandy, exotic dishes laced with spices from the Far East, along with a mixture of fruits, desserts and puddings. It was another amazing view, assaulting his senses with its very richness, and an utter contrast to the misery he had observed in the Parisian streets all these weeks. This, it seemed, summed up everything that was wrong. Lafayette's words of how his country was sick on the inside weren't far off.

Eventually, Lafayette led Connor into one of the luxurious drawing rooms of the palace. It was an enormous room, colored in ornate blue, with delicate golden leaves trimmed in the designs. A fireplace sat at one end of the room, dominated by an enormous portrait of King Louis. It was an exquisite room, and Connor wondered whether it was designed to purposely make him feel small, to have the image of the King towering over him.

Inside, the pair found a man studying the portrait with an stern look on his face. He was also dressed in the finery of a French Noble, but was slightly more plump than Lafayette, with a roll of fat spilling over his tight collar. He wore a wig as well, a fashion that was popular in the French court, and Connor could not help but stare at the two powdered rolls that sat above his ears. It seemed most peculiar to him.

"A shame really..." The man commented wistfully, giving Connor the impression that he was speaking to him. "A lot of potential in the young man," The nobleman said as he continued staring at the portrait of the king. "But living _up_ to that potential...is a different matter. But I suppose that is why we are here. To aid his majesty." The man finished off as he turned around.

"Connor," Lafayette gave a friendly wave of recognition towards the other man. "Allow me to introduce my friend and associate. Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, the count of Mirabeau."

The older man gazed at Connor, registering slight shock at seeing a native within the king's palace, but he smiled politely, bowing his head. "A pleasure..._monsieur?_"

"Connor." The Mohawk returned the gesture. "And it is my pleasure as well."

"I am most fascinated in your choice of company Lafayette." Mirabeau said nonchalantly. "I must remember to get out of my estate more often, and travel the world, then I can pick up more interesting friends such as yourself."

Lafayette chuckled in response. "Funny enough, I think it was the other way around. Connor saved our cause, and my life back in America. I owe him at least, the hospitality of a visit to our home country."

Mirabeau turned his gaze towards Connor. "And you young man, has your stay in Paris been to your liking?"

"It is a beautiful city." Connor replied diplomatically. "But I am wondering, why is it that you called me here Lafayette?"

"All in good time Connor, for now, we wait for our final guest, the man who called us all together." Lafayette replied. "He should be here any moment now."

Connor sighed, becoming quite tired of all the months of waiting, and his eyes laid on a rather nice looking chair by an elaborately decorated oak desk. Deciding that it may be a while before they would leave his room, he pulled up the chair and leaned in to sit.

"Wait don't Connor!" Lafayette shouted in horror, as though the seat was a trap, and his instincts kicked in. Connor quickly jumped up, and looked at the chair.

"What? I do not see anything." Connor asked in confusion. Thinking there was something odd with the chair, he lifted up the seat covers to inspect it, but nothing.

"_Non mon ami._" Lafayette explained, amusement written all over his face. "We're guests here actually, protocol demands we remain standing until the host arrives."

That struck Connor in an odd way, what kind of a host would demand his guests remain standing in wait for him?

It didn't take long before that mystery revealed itself. There was a flurry of noise outside, and the tall glass doors into the drawing room swung open, revealing a small army of servants stepping in quickly, standing to one side. More men appeared, each carrying stacks of paper while another porter announced in a loud voice. _"Le Compte de Vergennes."_

The Count was an elder man, far older than both Mirabeau and Lafayette, but he carried with him an air of authority, and both men bowed as he entered, and Connor instinctively followed suit. At this point, he began feeling a little uneasy. His conversations with Arnaud had warned him that the Templars were in charge of the government in France, and while he was certain Lafayette was no Templar, there could be no guarantee that one of these men standing in this room was _not._ He would have to watch them carefully, and be careful in turn.

"So this is the friend that Lafayette speaks volumes of." The Count of Vergennes smiled genially as he bowed his head politely to Connor. That made Connor slightly nervous. How much had his friend told them? The Templars must already know of his presence here, he would have to assume.

"He exaggerates sir, it was nothing." Connor replied carefully.

"See?" Lafayette exclaimed. "Honor and humility. Just the man we need."

"Connor," The Frenchman continued, "This is the Count of Vergennes, he is the minister of Foreign Affairs for my country. He has the ear of the King, and is a personal friend of your Doctor Franklin as well."

The mention of the Doctor's name brought a smile to his face. "Indeed, Doctor Franklin has been most passionate about his support for your country, and I've had the pleasure of working with him over the years, supplying your revolution with the funds and troops they needed." he explained.

"America will honor its credit and alliance with France in due time," Lafayette pressed. "I assure you."

"I have every confidence that in the end, it will." Vergennes smiled thinly. "Sadly, for the present those funds are slow in being repaid. Your new found republic, I find, is very inactive, and very demanding."

The old man chuckled at that last bit, as if at a private joke.

"Never mind the difficulties of my job gentlemen, please, sit so we can discuss matters at hand!"

Vergennes gestured for the three men to sit down. Connor settled comfortably into the chair, easing the tension from his legs even as Vergennes watched him.

"You have picked a most turbulent time to visit Paris my friend." Vergennes began smoothly, "No doubt Lafayette has informed you. I have invited you three here because I believe you can help us resolve this issue."

"The King is going to announce a Parliament soon." The old Count said. "I believe this is our opportunity to restore order, and show the people how the Monarchy will retrieve the country from its dire straights."

Lafayette nodded, explaining to Connor. "Mirabeau and myself, along with the count, believe that we can get the nobles to compromise of a few issues, preserving the monarchy, and relieving the people of their burden."

Connor was skeptical of this claim. "I have seen the streets of your city myself, Lafayette. To be blunt, it is full of suffering and despair. I do not see how a few compromises can resolve what is going on here."

"True reform takes time my friend." Mirabeau countered. "Getting the initial concessions is a huge first step."

Lafayette nodded. "The coalition and the political will is going to take time to build, years even." The Frenchman admitted, "Which is why I've asked for your services. You seem to have a knack for convincing people to your cause, and building alliances."

"Plus," Vergennes continued. "Your friend Lafayette is popular with the people, even if his efforts aren't being well received by the radicals. He will need protection, as will our allies, and your friend tells me that is what you do best."

"The Radicals?" Connor inquired.

"Insurrectionists," Vergennes replied harshly. "Who seek nothing more than to watch the country burn. They thrive in chaos and anarchy and would do nothing to bring about the destruction of the kingdom."

"From what I hear, they only wish for an equal opportunity." Connor said carefully. "Their grievances may have to do with the fact that your leaders are selected by birth, not ability."

The count gave a derisive laugh.

"Equality, yes, but only amongst themselves my friend." Vergennes said. "You would be naive to think they have the best interests of the people at large. Whether by ability, wealth or birth, there will always be some kind of aristocracy ruling the common masses, our duty is to ensure that these radicals aren't in control."

Sensing the conversation was going to become uncomfortable, Lafayette cleared his throat.

"In any case Connor, we both seek the same ends, to save our country, and to relieve the suffering of the people. We hoped you would be in a position to help us with it, in not only offering protection for our allies, but in gathering them as well." Lafayette replied.

At this, Connor turned an eye towards Vergennes. He was suspicious enough of the man already. Was he using him, through Lafayette, to communicate with the French Brotherhood? For what reason?

"You bestow upon me influence which I do not have." Connor replied, "I trust you Lafayette, I will do what I can to protect you and your family. But this...coalition, I will have to think on it."

The Frenchman seemed disappointed, but nodded.

"Of course _mon ami_, I would not have you do this against your will, take as long as you want." Lafayette smiled.

Mirabeau, who had kept silent for most of the exchange, gruffly spoke. "But know that the time to decide is short, and running out. We could very much use your help Connor, the future of the country could depend on it."

* * *

With the meeting adjourned, Connor and Lafayette thanked the Count of Vergennes for his hospitality, and they both left to the central dining hall, where already the party had moved. Now, the banquet table became a new gathering ground for the finely dressed aristocrats and soldiers.

"I am sorry Connor," Lafayette began, "That was a lot to take in. But I don't want you to think of this evening as just work. Come! There is one last prson I wish you to meet."

"Another friend of yours Lafayette?" Connor almost joked, it seemed the Frenchman was friends with everyone in Paris, but perhaps that was not far from the truth.

"_Oui_, you can say that Connor." The Frenchman grinned as he led the Mohawk through the dining hall.

As the pair negotiated their way through the sea of people, Connor eventually saw his friend Doctor Franklin, this time, he was speaking to another entourage of people, perhaps the most splendedly dressed of them all, and important too, considering the guards the surrounded them. It didn't take long before Connor realized who he was speaking to.

"Ah, Connor!" Franklin's face beamed as he saw his friend with Lafayette, and he wasted no time pulling the pair to his side.

"Votre Majesté" Lafayette did a graceful sweeping bow before the royal couple, and Connor followed suit, remembering what Franklin told him about protocol.

"Your majesties," the Doctor began, "Allow me to introduce to you my friend Connor. He is of the Mohawk tribe, and is my personal assistant during my stay in Paris. He is also a friend of your General Lafayette."

"Charmed." The Queen, a young beautiful woman in a lavishly decorated dress, curtesyed, her eyes gazing over Connor with curiosity. "This is my first time seeing a Native such as yourself, you look as brave as they say."

"He is staying with me while I conclude my duties, and helping with my successor as well." Franklin explained, saving Connor the trouble of replying.

"It saddens me greatly to have you leave doctor, were it possible for you to stay." The Queen said sadly.

"Alas your majesty, greater duties call me back to my country." Franklin replied disappointingly. "Otherwise, I would remain."

The King smiled, turning towards Connor.

"Your country is blessed my young brave, to have such a man in her service." King Louis XVI said genially. This was the man (not much older than himself) who had the responsibilities of an entire nation upon him, and Connor was not sure whether the man was simply tired from the strain of it, or because he had spent most of the day at this lavish party.

"A pleasure of course, Connor." The King said, somewhat uneasily. "A friend of Doctor Franklin is welcome anytime here."

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well." Connor replied politely.

King Louis nodded in response, then turned to Doctor Franklin. "Come Doctor, there are a few more of my cabinet who wishes to pay their last respects to you before you are off. A few words from you would do them wonders."

"I aim to please your majesty." Franklin bowed, then winked at Connor as he followed the Royal couple and their entourage to the next group of conversing nobles.

"Friends in high places indeed." Connor mused. "It seems your King is a busy man."

"He is still young, and has much to learn." Lafayette explained, sensing Connor's sarcasm. "But he is a good man, with his heart in the right place. More than that, I owe him my loyalty and life."

"For a man who has not done much to help his own people, I can't say he's earned it." Connor replied gruffly.

"I know Connor, and this may all seem strange to you, just as your own homeland was to me, but please, be patient with our ways. He will prove it to you in time."

"We'll see." Connor replied flatly.

* * *

The party lasted for several more hours, and when it became apparent that Doctor Franklin's attentions would be occupied by the royal couple all evening, Connor decided to head back to the apartment himself. After leaving a note with the carriage driver for Doctor Franklin, and saying his goodbyes to Lafayette, he headed off on foot to the heart of the city. The city was still somewhat busy this time of night, and Connor walked with his guard up along the streets, lest a thief or pickpocket thought he was easy pickings. He wanted so much to climb up one of the buildings and free climb, but the restrictive suit made it hard, if not impossible.

He was close to the end of the street when he saw a slight shape leaning against one of the entrances to the alleyways. It was a small street girl, and she stared at him with recognition. She had a beautiful face, especially bathed in the cold blue light of the moon. Her long hair, black and wavy, hung over the dull grey cloak she sported. She saw him, and smiled, walking towards him with intent. There was something very familiar with her, even if he could not place it...

"Hello handsome." She smiled, "Cold night for a walk by yourself _non_?"

"Not really." Connor replied rather clumsily, but it was true, after all he grew up in winters harsher than this.

The girl chuckled lightly at his reponse, and Connor found himself flushing a bit as she slipped her hand under his arm and walked next to him, in one smooth motion.

"Are you so surprised?" She teased him softly. "Don't worry. I'm just here to talk, after all I never did get to thank my rescuer."

It was weeks since that incident with the guards, but her voice was clear in his memory now.

"Charlotte," Connor said with a nod of acknowledgment.

"The very same." she smirked. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. Thank you...for saving me _monsieur_."

"So you are of the order?" He asked

"_Oui_." She replied in a more serious tone.

"A message to you _monsieur_." Charlotte said.

"From Arnaud I'm assuming?" Connor replied, eyeing the rooftops unconsciously as they walked together.

"No, from much higher." She whispered. "Citizen Schaefer believes it is time to have a meeting with you. Your actions over the past few months has convinced him of your devotion to the cause.

"Tell him I am ready any time. I would like to speak with him as well." Connor replied briskly.

"In due time _monsieur_." Her eyes darted between Connor and the surrounding rooftops and alleyways. "For now, the situation is still too delicate to reveal everything. But know that we now consider you a friend and ally, and when the time comes, we will require your for assistance."

"I will wait then." Connor replied, "And please, no need to call me that. My name is Connor."

She nodded, "Of course. It is great to finally put a name to the face, even if the face is very noticeable." she smiled briefly, then let go of his arm and continued walking into the crowd.

"Until we meet again Connor. _Au revoir._"

Connor nodded as the frenchwoman departed, considering his most recent meetings with Lafayette, that made whatever this Citizen Schaefer was planning, all the more important. Already, he was feeling torn between supporting his friend, who could possibly be unknowingly manipulated by the templars, or his own brothers and sisters, whose plans for France were still unknown to him.

It was a disturbing dilemma, and he hoped that whatever this Schaefer wanted, it was something he could work out with Lafayette.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the palace, the party was dying down, and as Lafayette said his farewells to the King and Queen, along with Doctor Franklin, a group of nobles who had observed the night's festivities gathered.

"It seems gentlemen," One of the noblemen began confidently. "We have found our viper."

The Colonel nodded gruffly. "Then allow me to put him out of our misery."

"_Patience_, _mon ami._" A new man, who was known to them as the Count, replied with authority. "You can milk the cow several times, but only kill it once. We leave him for now, he is more useful to us alive." The Count ordered.

"You think he suspects the King?" the nobleman asks.

"He would be a fool not to, but that is fine, his Majesty can serve to detract attention away from us." The Count reasoned. "For now however, bring word of tonight's developments to Le Saint."

The Colonel and the Nobleman eyed each other warily, but consented. "Very well sir."

"Good," the Count replied with a conspiratoral smille. "Now off to your duties, and report back to me when you have something new. May the Father of Understanding guide us."

* * *

**Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - Thomas Jefferson**

Thomas Jefferson was one of the founding fathers, author of the Declaration of Independence and the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom, third president of the United States, and founder of the University of Virginia. As public official, historian, philosopher, and plantation owner, he served his country for over five decades. (Let's see you top that one!) Although that's yet to come.

After Jefferson left Congress in 1776, he returned to Virginia and served in the legislature. Elected governor from 1779 to 1781, he suffered an inquiry into his conduct during his last year in office that, although finally fully repudiated, left him with a life-long pricklishness in the face of criticism. (Ungrateful buggers, after signing the declaration and all that too!)

At this moment, he's serving as America's trade commissioner for the states, then eventually, as Benjamin Franklin's successor. And yes, like Washington, he too owned slaves. Smug bastard.

******Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, Count of Mirabeau **

A friend and colleague of Lafayette's during this time, the Count of Mirabeau had an interesting life, to say the least. He had been imprisioned several times during his youth under _lettres de cachet_ (sort of an eighteenth century version of your National Security acts ...detaining people in the name of Freedom! er..in this case, the King) obtained by his father to prevent him from becoming involved in compromising love affairs (This guy must have been taking lessons from Franklin!), and had once been injustly sentenced to death for rape (...except for the getting caught part, I guess), but he succeeded in having it reversed. He would eventually become a forceful politican and orator, and elected as a deputy to the Third Estate. (Anyone who can talk his way out of that is bound to be a good politican I suppose!)

**************Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - Charles Gravier, Count of Vergennes **

Charles Gravier, the count of Vergennes was a prominent diplomat and stateman for the Kingdom of France. Vergennes rose through the ranks of the diplomatic service during postings in Portugal and Germany before receiving the important post of Envoy to the Ottoman Empire in 1755. He was also a prominent player in providing aid to the American rebels during the revolutionary war.

Vergennes hoped that by giving French aid to the American rebels, he would be able to weaken Britain's dominance of the international stage in the wake of their victory in the Seven Years War. This produced mixed results as in spite of securing American independence France was able to extract little material gain from the war, while the costs of fighting damaged French national finances in the run up to the Revolution. He went on to be a dominant figure in French politics during the 1780s.

(So America literally owes much of its existence to this cheese eating surrender monkey, and how do they repay them? Two words...Freedom Fries.)

******************************Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - King Louis XVI **

Louis XVI, King of the French, became the heir to the throne and the last Bourbon king of France upon his father's death in 1765. In 1770, he married Austrian archduchess Marie-Antoinette, the daughter of Maria Theresa and Holy Roman Emperor Francis I. Louis Auguste grew up strong and healthy, though very shy. He was tutored by French noblemen and studied religion, morality, and humanities. He excelled in Latin, history, geography, and astronomy and achieved fluency in Italian and English. (So he was good at everything...except being a king basically) With his good health, he enjoyed physical activities such as hunting and wrestling and from an early age he enjoyed locksmithing, which became a life-long hobby (wow, lock making as a hobby..ah the French.)

In the early years of his reign, Louis XVI focused on religious uniformity and foreign policy. On the homefront, he invoked an edict that granted French non-Catholics legal status and the right to openly practice their faith. Louis XVI's early foreign policy success was supporting the American colonies' fight for independence from France's archenemy Great Britain. However, the policy of taking out international loans and not raising taxes increased the debt and drove the country to near bankruptcy by the mid-1780s. (That of course, didn't mean cutting the budget for lavish feasting and dressing up like an absurd prick)

* * *

**Thanks everyone for the reads and reviews! I also ask that if you know a lot of the french revolution, to refrain from revealing too much of the events :) If you have any questions, feel free to PM me and i'll answer as best I can! **

**Nerdman3000 - **I have two new weapons planned for the future to add to Connor's arsenal, both a variation of ones already seen, i may see if i can add more distinct ones as well...

**East Coast Captain **- thanks for the reviews! glad you liked it :) Yes, i am doing as much research as i can to keep this as 'real' as possible. The Italian brotherhood may or may not show up in the future :) who knows...as for whose memories this is, it's not williams. I'm not planning on making it a central part of the story, but depending on how things go, we'll see!

**NinjaxSketcheartx - **Glad you love the action :D i was very nervous on how it would work. I haven't played revelations, but i saw enough of Yusuf to see what you mean, I'm flattered! He was awesome. as for Lafayettes fate...we'll see :D To be honest about Aveline, i'd like to, but i dont own liberation nor am I planning on playing it anytime soon and if i'm reading assassin wiki correctly, she's ten years older than him? that would make her a bit older when the revolution hits full bloom. I'll see...if i can make it work, then of course!

**will zona **you are on the right track :)

**QuippyHistorian : **Thanks for the review! i'm relieved that Connor's working out for you, as i think that is the hardest part of this story. How exactly would he react being a different setting far from home, and i'm glad its working out so far. He's not exactly the most developed character to write about!

**TheScoutAssassin : **glad you liked the fight scene, and you want more shaun database entries? Ask and yee shall receive :)

**DDk**: Sorry, new years and all! I'll try to update as often as I can, but with my committments, i can only do my best :D

Thanks everyone for your support on the story, it really keeps me going!


	5. Letters and Intrigues

**Several weeks later...**

To Connor's surprise, this time, the Parisan Brotherhood had been true to their word. In the days that passed, several anonymous messages and 'packages' had shown up at the doorstep of the Hotel De La Fayette. First, it had been a paperboy delivering snippets within a newspaper, next, it would be a courier delivering letters from America for Ambassador Jefferson. From the messages Connor had received, he was able to piece together the address of a coffee shop across Notre Dame as the meeting place; one of the same shops where he had delivered Charlotte's packages. Having heard what Lafayette offered, Connor was more than anxious to hear what this Schaefer had in mind.

Deciding it was easier to stay hidden within the crowds, Connor slipped into the streets, keeping a wary eye on patrols of French regulars and the Elite guards. Stepping behind a young couple and an old man, he walked calmly in the press of humanity, so that to the casual, untrained eye, he was invisible. It was a skill he spent most of his life perfecting, and even he couldn't help but scrutinize everything around him for signs of danger, whether it was a group of orphans playing ball near a street corner, or a mysterious man in a coat standing by an alleyway. No detail was too small to take in.

It was working perfectly fine up until he rounded a street corner after crossing a bridge over the Seine. There was a commotion on one of the side streets, where a crowd was shouting and screaming. Some ran away, while others crowded around the scuffle, throwing rocks and insults at what Connor presumed to be French soldiers. It was a common sight in Paris, where starving citizens would take to the streets against the King's soldiers. He had seen several of these during his time here, and they often degenerated into chaotic street fights.

_Better to avoid them then, and find another way_. Walking an extra few minutes was preferable to fighting his way through a protest, especially if it broke out into a riot.

Just as he was about to turn however, a gunshot cracked through the air, and the crowd quickly threw into a panic as people turned and ran. One short man in a heavy coat physically bumped into Connor, but he took notice as he turned and quickly ran towards the scene, pushing aside the fleeing civilians. It was one thing bully and oppress the people, but shooting them in the street like animals was something he couldn't, wouldn't tolerate.

As the crowd dispersed and parted, Connor saw with surprise the bodies of two French Regulars lying dead on the ground, blood pooling around their necks. Whoever this person was, they were quite deadly in a fight. Already he saw the Frenchman, who was locked in combat with another French Regular, sword in hand. At that moment, Connor craned his head to the intersection, where an officer was shouting orders. At least another platoon had heard the noise, and was already rushing to the scene, more soldiers that would easily overwhelm the man. _unless..._

Connor's eye quickly darted to a nearby inn, where a group of horses were feeding at a trough.

Without thinking, he ran towards the mounts, and the animal whinnied in protest as he took the reins, guiding the mare towards the melee. The owner of the horse shouted a protest, but his screams were quickly swept away by the crowd.

Ignoring the man, Connor kicked the mare straight at the platoon of oncoming French regulars, covering the civilian as he fought. The Frenchman had just finished cutting down one of the regulars he was fighting with, and just as he was about to engage another, he saw the platoon of soldiers. He used the horse as a battering ram, crashing into the first three French regulars who were running to their comrades' aid. The animal cried in panic, kicking about and crushing the bones of the three regulars it rammed into, leaving them on the ground in a crumbled and groaning heap. At that same moment, before the impact, Connor had kicked his feet off the stirrups, jumping off his mount and landing next to the Frenchman, Tomahawk in hand and ready to fight.

"Connor!" Arnaud exclaimed happily as he reocgnized him. "I was wondering when you'd come and meet my new friends!". The Frenchman said it nonchalantly, as though it was like he was inviting him to a game of tennis or bowling with the French Regulars. (perhaps more absurdedly, he said this even as his hand was holding a sword that was presently buried into the breast of a dying French regular.)

"What are you doing here?" Connor grunted as he parried a blow from another white coated soldier with his Tomahawk, kicking the man between the legs and burying his hidden blade in his face as he keeled forward.

"I was intercepting a Templar messenger, but came across these_ Fils de pute" (sons of bitches). _Arnaud spat, having finished another French soldier, moved on to fight the remaining soldiers.

Connor decided the conversation had to wait, and he parried another bayonet thrust from a regular, pulling his musket (and soldier) towards him, he used his other arm to bury the Tomahawk in his neck.

"Where is he?" Connor shouted above the melee.

"Fled, in your direction actually. He was wearing a thick coat."

Connor swore as he instantly recalled the memory, the short man in the coat who had bumped into him during the chaos. His epiphany was quickly ended as bullets slapped on the streets, more gunshots erupting from the French soldiers that now appeared on the scene, these ones in Blue coats. French Guard units.

"We can't fight them all." Connor concluded, pulling Arnaud behind a set of crates which soon splintered as more regulars shot at the two assassins.

"What do you propose?" The Frenchman asked, taking a pistol off one of the corpses and firing it at their attackers.

Connor smiled, producing a small tennis ball sized metal orb in his hand. "A distraction."

"Wait, wha-" Arnaud widened his eyes, but his words were cut off by a bang and a flash, and soon the entire street became covered in a cloud of smoke. Connor heard the confused cries and shouts of the French soldiers as they were blinded by the gas bomb.

"Come on, let's go." Connor grabbed Arnaud by the shoulder, leaving the coughing and disoriented French regulars in their confusion.

* * *

"That was quite the trick _mon ami" _Arnaud said, impressed, even as the pair were vaulting over the rooftops of downtown Paris. Connor had long memorized the patterns of the buildings and already made an educated guess of where their prey had gone. "Thank you, I owe you my life."

"Nonsense, you would have done the same for me." Connor replied, focused in his work.

"Maybe not before today," Arnaud joked sarcastically, "But I will now!

Connor ignored Arnaud, instead, he focused his eyes at the crowd below them, taking great care to recall as much as he could about the details of the man who had bumped into him, his coat...his demeanour...his stride. No matter how professional a man was, he always left his mark in a crowd.

"I see him." Connor quickly cut Arnaud off, pointing at their target. As he did so, the pair stopped on the rooftop above the small man as he turned around, gasping and heaving, seeing if he was being pursued. He was so exhausted, he didn't even bother looking at the rooftops for his hunters.

"And I got him." Arnaud quickly unsheathed his hidden blade, and before Connor could stop him, he was already jumping off the rooftop, landing on the neck of the small man and driving the blade into his shoulder.

The crowd screamed as they witnessed the murder, spreading in all directions and dispersing even as Connor joined his fellow assassin in the streets. Connor did not like the fact that Arnaud was so quick to jump the gun, preferring to tail the courier to see his intended destination, but what's done was done, all that he could do now was end the man's suffering cleanly.

The messenger, wounded and lying on the ground, gasped in pain as Connor stepped above him.

"Where were you delivering this?" Connor asked, deciding there was no harm in it.

The messenger simply spat, his face a mask of anger and defiance.

_"Va te faire foutre, trouduc. (Fuck off asshole) _Like I will reveal anything to the likes of you! You and your kind will soon be wiped out, we'll see to-"

He stopped talking because Arnaud stabbed him in the heart. The small man tried to blurt out more, but soon the words simply became blood in his mouth. His eyes soon became a blank, milky white, and his breathing stilled.

"Bastard." Arnaud kicked the corpse once more for good measure.

"That's not our way." Connor was quick to chastise his brother. "Show respect."

"After what these bastards did to our order...to my family. He should be lucky to have kept any limbs." Arnaud spat. "Do you think they would treat us any different!?"

"No, that is why we must not become like them." The Mohawk explained.

Connor then leaned down, closing the eyes of the messenger. "_Wakan Tankan Nici Un_." (May the great spirit walk with you)

"On the bright side." Arnaud said as he rummaged through the man's pockets, producing a slip of paper with writing on it. "We found what he was carrying."

Connor took a look at the paper, but instead of any writing, it only contained a scribble of numbers that made no sense to him.

6375817480

687572648068658261817280

80686561767672656375736579

657980618065793

666180686578

"What could it possibly mean?" Connor asked.

Arnaud shrugged, as though he could care less. "Hell if I know, the Templars have been skilled in hiding their intentions from us with their blasted codes." He sighed, pocketing it. "Maybe our brothers can find someone who can translate it."

Connor nodded thoughtfully, still wondering what was so important in the contents of the message that the French Templars had this man guarded so heavily.

"But this is a mystery for another day, I presume you are here to meet Schaefer?"

"Yes." Connor replied gruffly, with an impatience that he had been bottling up for so many months since he got to France. "I think it's time I find out what it is you exactly intend to do with your revolution."

* * *

The streets resembled a war zone, with blood soaking the ground and bullet holes scarring the buildings. Even as the smoke lifted, it was clear the French Guards had lost a lot in the fight. Six dead, and at least four more lying critically injured. The Templar Colonel spat in disgust, knowing that his prey had gotten away.

"Get these men a proper burial, and cordon off this block! They are here somewhere!"

The courier was missing, which was bad. Only a few select men were trusted to communicate between the Templar leaders. They were educated, well travelled and recruited for their specific skills. A loss of one of these couriers was crippling to their logistics.

To make matters worse, the assassin had gotten away with the message intended for their Order. It was coded, and thus impossible for them to crack unless they knew the Templar codes, but it still represented a delay, and this assassin had already done so much damage in intercepting the courier. Now, Le Saint would have to request additional orders for them which meant more delays. More time wasted.

To hell with the Count's orders. The Colonel thought. He would see this assassin dead even if it was the last thing he would do.

* * *

It did not take long before Arnaud brought Connor to the familiar coffee shop where they had met so many months ago. After bypassing the city patrols and the French guards of course. Once the pair were satisfied that the search for them had died off, they slipped into the shop with barely anyone noticing them. The shopkeeper, a kindly old man with spectacles, smiled warmly as he recognized Arnaud.

"Come my friends, the meeting is about to begin."

Inside, a meeting indeed seemed to be already taking place, for it was filled with a crowd of Parisans. Men and women from all walks of life, intellectuals, farmers, bankers, and tradesmen, all of them paying attention to a man speaking fiercely at a podium, who had the entire audience captured in the passion of his speech.

"I'm presuming that is Citizen Schaefer?" Connor guessed, considering how the crowd seemed to be viewing him as a leader.

The old shopkeeper chuckled at the remark. "_Non Citizen_, that is not Schaefer. He is far too careful to have himself exposed to the secret police by speaking in public. He is a revolutionist, behind the scenes working out of the public eye for now, until the right time.

"There's an army officer here." Connor whispered carefully, eyeing a Regular soldier in a uniform sitting at one of the tables, listening intently to the speech. He knew that the French Templars had informants scattered throughout the city, it seemed odd that they would send a man in the full uniform of a lieutenant, but he was right there. Almost unsheathing his blade, he whispered. "Would he be trouble?"

"Oh him?" The shopkeeper chuckled softly. "He's barely a boy. No spy at all. Besides, I've seen him here too often to consider him an agent of the crown. All he does in his free time is read radical texts and pamphlets."

"Besides," Arnaud continued, "Our men have been following his activities for a few days, he seems harmless enough, and genuine in his interest."

The Frenchman continued. "You taught me, with your friend Lafayette, that nobles would have cause to save our people from their plight. Well, the case is even more so for the soldiers. They are the ones holding the bayonet, who are ordered to do the killings. While some, like the Templar guards, are truly dogs deserving of death, some are not unlike us, working day to day for a scrap of bread. The more of them we can convert to our side, the better."

Nodding quietly, Connor was led down to the basement floor, where a round table and chairs waited.

Connor sat down quietly, unconsciously keeping an eye on the nearest exit. He didn't quite fully trust this Schaefer for being so secretive with one of his fellow brothers, and he wanted a way out in case things went sour.

Sitting opposite of Connor, was a man wearing a powdered wig and fine suit. The dim light of the candles in the room was enough to obscure most of the features on his face, but even in the dim light, Connor saw the intelligent and intense expression on the man's eyes. Arnaud himself, was whispering with the man, showing him the coded message they found earlier, before being waved aside.

"It is nice to finally meet you," Schaefer said firmly with a smile. "_Ratonhnhaké:ton, _or do you prefer the name Achilles gave you? Connor?"

If Connor was surprised that the man knew his name (or even how to pronounce it) he hid it with a scowl. For a meeting between fellow brothers of the Assassin order, it carried a strangely tense feeling. One he did not like.

"How do you know my other name?" Connor asked, genuinely curious.

"I am a Mentor of the Brotherhood, it is my job to know these things." Schaefer replied flatly, leaning forward on the table. "Besides, it is better to keep friends close, and potential enemies even closer."

At that last statement, Connor slightly tensed up. Arnaud and the shopkeeper too, seemed intimidated by the man's intensity, but it was more of reverence than fear.

"You don't trust us," Schaeffer stated, as if reading Connor's mind. "Which is a perfectly normal reaction. Just as we are wary of you. A man with Templar blood in his veins is liable to be torn between two worlds."

"If you were referring to my father," Connor hissed. "He was born an assassin." He found it odd that he was now suddenly jumping to defend his father, but he didn't let it show.

"Yet in the end, he was corrupted by Templar ideals." Schaefer insisted, gauging the tension in Connor as he spoke.

But then, he smiled. "But your recent actions in America and your good work here has convinced me of your sincerity in our cause, that is why we are meeting now."

"What is it you are planning?" Connor asked.

Schaefer nodded. "Very well Connor, you deserve an explanation. Have you ever heard of the pieces of Eden?"

Connor's eyes flickered at the phrase. He had remembered a crystal orb used by the spirits to communicate with him, as well as the key he had taken from Charles Lee. "Briefly."

"They are wonders Connor. But they are also weapons. Used to forge men's minds and control their desires and whims. The Ones Who Came Before Us. The Precursors. Used it to enslave mankind. And when they passed from this world, these weapons fell into the hands of the Templars. Human history as you know it, has been shaped by them. The Templars have used these Pieces to create and destroy empires and civilizations, shaping our society how they see fit. You, my friend, have been on the wrong end of that, if I recall correctly."

Connor slowly gripped his fists as he recalled how his own village was burned down. The screams of his friends and his mother...

"Our plan, is to put an end to it." Schaefer said firmly. "We start with France, the center of Templar power in Europe. We have reason to believe that the Templars are using a piece of Eden to control the country. We intend to take it from them, overthrow the king, and install our own system of government, a democracy like America's. By destroying the _ancien regime_ that the Templars have built so carefully over the centuries. We will show the people of Europe, and the world the truth: that Kings are not to be feared, and that rule by the people is permitted. Neigh, inevitable. We will share our creed with the rest of the world, and together, forge a future free of the Templars. One where we can control our own destiny!"

"And we, the Paris Brotherhood, need you." Arnaud replied, placing an hand on Connor's shoulder.

Schaefer nodded. "It is something the Assassin's have never attempted before in their history. And the early years will be the most dangerous and turbelent ones. Our people have been under the heel of the aristocrats for centuries, they will not know what to do with their newfound freedom. There are those who have grown so attached, so dependent on the old order, they would seek to drag down others with their cynicism and self-interest. Until they can be brought into the light, we will need leaders, and people to fight. People who can make the necessary sacrifices to achieve our aims. Just as you have done so admirably in America."

"And my friend, Lafayette?" Connor inquired. "He is fighting for the same thing you are fighting, but in a different way. Perhaps you can work together to achieve your aims."

Schaefer shook his head. "Your friend, I know all about him. Arnaud has told me as such from your dealings with him. He is a good man, with noble intentions, but he does not go far enough. He seeks to bandage the wound, we intend to root out the sickness at its roots. Your friend can be a valuable ally, and a member of the new order, but I'm afraid he would not consent."

"Besides," Schaefer explained. "Your friend is already associated with the Templars."

"He is not a Templar!" Connor replied, indignant.

"Of course! I never said he was." The mentor laughed. "But it serves to throw our enemies off balance by making them think we believe it so. Besides, we already know the name of the top Templar in Paris. He is known as the Count. You met him yourself a few nights ago."

"The Count of Vergennes," Schaefer said flatly. "is the leader of the Paris branch. Along with several more accomplices, one of which is the Colonel of the French Guards.

Connor sighed, that would explain the French guards, and the cryptic way Vergennes talked to him. But the man, even if he knew he was an assassin, seemed to desire a truce, and more importantly, let Connor walk in and out of his fortress unharmed.

"You don't believe me." Schaefer sensed.

"No," Connor replied. "I believe you. I've had my own suspicions about Vergennes. What I don't believe is that we have to kill him to achieve our aims. He spoke to me as though he wanted to work with the Brotherhood to help the people."

"The People?" Schaefer scoffed. "Listen to yourself Connor. The Templars view the people as simply a means to an end. No more than raw material to fuel their grand ambitions for control. You yourself should know this!"

"I trust my friend's judgement." Connor said defiantly. "Lafayette would never agree to this."

"Then I'm afraid you've misjudged your friend, or at least, put too much faith in his judgment." Schaefer said softly. "There is still time to decide before the opening act, so I will leave you be for now, but whether or not your friend's heart is in the right place or not, has damned well nothing to do with what the Templars are planning. I hope you will come to your senses sooner rather than later."

At that moment, Schaefer gestured to Arnaud, who produced the coded message in his hand and gave it to Connor.

"This paper was meant for your Count." Schaefer said wearily, as though he did not want to devote any more energy in convincing Connor. "I do not have the resources to break its code, but maybe you can. Once you find out the message, let me know, and then we'll see who was right or not."

At that, Schaefer simply got up from his chair, and left.

Arnaud apologized to Connor as they exited the shop, and began walking back towards the Hotel De La Fayette, taking care to have his brothers and sisters of the order cover their approach along the way.

"I am sorry if our mentor was a little harsh Connor." Arnaud explained. "But what he speaks rings true. The Templars can talk as many flowery phrases as they want, but in the end they are all the same."

_I once worked with a Templar...my father. I had hopes we could reconcile. _Years ago, Connor would have been horrified at such a thought. But he had already read parts of his father's journal that was recovered from his estate, and he found that knowing that much more of his father's youth, struggles and uncertainties****** had softened his opinion of him over the years. Instead of a murderous Templar with no remorse, he began to view him as a flawed man. A human being. Perhaps...even a father.

"No. Not all of them." He replied fiercely.

* * *

As Connor entered the apartments where he had been staying, Ambassador Jefferson was there to greet him, with Benjamin Franklin having left a few weeks earlier. Although he missed the old man, he found that he respected Jefferson's intelligence and ideals, even if he seemed less sociable than the wily Doctor.

"Connor," Jefferson smiled as he greeted him. "You have some more letters from the homestead."

"Thanks Ambassador." The Mohawk smiled as he took the bundle of packages. He had already corresponded with his friends at the Homestead, exchanging stories with them of his adventures in Paris. Myriam was pregnant, and expecting a child soon. While Hunter was already speaking his first words. Father Timothy meanwhile, kept Connor up to date on the latest happenings of the area. More settlers were coming into the valley, growing the community and increasing its strength day by day. The estate was being kept in order as promised, and he made sure to tend to Achilles' gravesite every now and then. The thought brought a rare smile to his face. He missed them dearly. He realized.

In addition to that, there were practical gifts. Clipper Wilkinson had somehow managed to ship over a Virginian rifle to Connor, wrapped in a brown cloth, while Myriam attached a rope dart with the package that came with her letter. Even three thousand miles away, his friends sought to do their part in helping him.

As he tucked away the packages, and prepared to settle down to a night's rest, Jefferson had one last package to offer.

"This came along with the letters. Dated some time ago." Jefferson said curiosly as he held out a thick book with leather bindings. "Judging from the stamps, it seems to have made its way around the world the last few years before coming to you. It seemed different from the rest too, a codex of sorts. Maybe it would mean something to you?"

Connor took the book with curiosity, he didn't recall Father Timothy saying he'd send over a bible. But upon seeing the first page, Connor nearly dropped the book out of surprise.

It was in code. The same code he had found on the Parisan messenger.

806865736573756978797566HAYT HAM716574836185

80757385797574637574747578

74758068697467697980788165

6582657885806869746769797665 78736980806564

Although the rest of it was jumbled garbage, code he did not understand, all Connor needed to read was the name in the first line of the title. 'Haytham'

"This...this belonged to my father." Connor said, trembling with an emotion that he did not quite understand.

"What does it say?" Jefferson asked curiously, putting on his reading spectacles as he took a closer look at the book.

"I don't know...but my father's name is on it. It's in a secret code."

"Hmmm...interesting. Let me take a look. I'm familiar with secret codes myself, with my time in the revolution and all*******, maybe I can help." Jefferson studied the book with intent, utterly intrigued by the code. "What did you say your father's last name was."

"Kenway."

A few moments passed as Jefferson ran his eyes along the numbered lines of code. Then, suddenly, a smile appeared on Jefferson's face. "Ah...so that's it!"

Connor blinked in confusion.

"I've figured it out my young man. The code that is." Jefferson explained, proud of his accomplishment.

"But how..." Connor burrowed his eyebrows in confusion as he stared blankly at the paper.

"Your father must have been a secretive man," Jefferson mused, "But he was was kind enough to already provide us with the key. His name."

"What does it say?" Connor asked, his curiosity burning.

"I'll leave that to you to find out." Jefferson explained. "It's not my business to know what goes on between a father and his son. Of course, I'll provide you with the key first, so that you can decode it yourself. It'll only take me a few moments to create it." He said happily, taking a sheaf of paper from his desk and setting to work. "_Lets see...if Haytham Kenway was his name, then the K must be...so that means the A is..."_

As Jefferson continued his work, it was evident to Connor that there was more to his father's journals than he thought. More importantly, Connor's mind lit up with a startling revelation... Did his father purposely give him the code to the Templars?

And if so.. why?

* * *

****I highly recommend reading Assassin's Creed III : Forsaken for more details on Haytham's past :D**

*****Fun fact:** Jefferson was quite the cryptologist back in his day, he started creating codes when he was just 21 years old. In fact, he even invented a cipher system that was similar to the one used by the US army during WW2 (which had to invent it from scratch because they didn't know about Jefferson's!). So he was literally over a hundred years ahead of his time**. **If there was ever a game set during the French Revolution, I think Jefferson's role as America's ambassador in paris can be quite useful for any plot with AC :)

**To those with crazy code breaking skills who have solved the coded messages - i ask that you refrain from spoiling plz! :)**

* * *

**Thanks everyone for the reviews/faves/follows/reads!**

**Eastcoastcaptain**: Thank you! I actually do plan on having some segments with updates on the homesteaders, but as we get closer to the revolution, it'll stay more grounded in Europe.

**NinjaxSketcheartx**: Thanks for the review! Yes, Connor does appear to me to be one of the more Naive ancestors, which makes for hilarious situations! Tense is exactly what this period of French history is, with its shadow conspiracies and intrigues. Let's just say it won't be dying down anytime soon :D. Thanks for catching my spelling mistake! I try to avoid these but evidently i miss a few. My main problem with Aveline is that i can't write her since i haven't played liberation, that may change if i ever do play it :D

**Nerdman3000** : Thanks nerdman, i aim to please ;) we'll see more of the royals later on

**Will zona:** Thanks :D Will they hook up? We'll seeeeee :)

**Guest:** THanks for the review! I actually subscribe to the theory that Miles is still alive...oh well, guess we'll find out in AC4


	6. Revelations

Connor was amazed at the speed and skill with which Jefferson had solved the puzzle, perhaps even more impressed, at how long it took him to craft the key. As Jefferson gave Connor the sheet of paper, he explained it patiently to the Mohawk.

"Obviously, you assume that each letter is represented by a number. Single numbers are probably too simple, three too complex, so they would settle on two." Jefferson intoned as he drew lines dividing the numbers on the codex page into sets of two. "Next, you look for patterns, repeating numbers, this usually denotes what kind of letter it is. This could take as long as hours or weeks to go through, but your father obviously wanted to leave a clue for you." He said helpfully.

"Haytham Kenway was your father's name. So then Kenway would be..."

Jefferson explained as he drew the comparison on the sheet.

HAYTHAM K_E_N_W_A_Y

is

HAYTHAM 71_65_74_83_61_85

"From there, you can deduce which numbers represent which letter, and draw the alphabet accordingly. So A is 61, then by that logic, B is 62, and so on and so on." Jefferson explained as he helped Connor transcribe the title of the book.

"And...there you go." The Ambassador finished with a swipe of his quill, quite pleased with his work.

Connor looked at the title of the manuscript, and read for the first time, the first message from his father since his death so many years ago.

_THE MEMOIRS OF HAYTHAM KENWAY_

_TO MY SON CONNOR_

_NOTHING IS TRUE_

_EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED_

The title of the book took Connor by surprise. His father was the grand master of the Templar Order, why would he use an assassin's creed as a cover for his memoirs? Then again, his father, like himself, saw everything from a different perspective. Perhaps this was his way of showing that he at least, was empathetic towards his view point.

"Thank you Thomas." Connor addressed Jefferson by his first name, grateful for his help. "I would never had figured this out without you."

Jefferson bowed, "A small pittance on my part, considering what you've done for our cause. It was my pleasure. I will leave you with the code to transcribe the rest of this if you wish. It is hardly my business to pry into your affairs. Of course, if you find any more codex pages you need to solve, simply bring them to me and I will do the rest!"

Connor nodded, taking the codex and settling down on the desk to work. As he started transcribing the journal, he found it no easy task, having no formal schooling during his childhood. He was fortunate that he had taken some time to learn his letters during his time with Achilles, who spent many a frustrating afternoon teaching Connor the fundamentals of grammar and spelling. There were days when the old man nearly cracked his cane in frustration at the proper ordering of his ABCs. The memory, so distant and nostalgic, brought a smile to Connor's face.

Still, the breaking of the code, and the copying of his father's journals another piece of paper was an arduous task. He was more concerned with writing down each and every individual letter rather than reading them. But one set of letters seemed to catch his attention.

FRANCE 1747

So his father had traveled to France as well? He recalled reading some snippets of it from his own collection of his father's writings back home, but never the details. He reminded himself to save it for future reference. Perhaps something in his father's experiences in this country could aid him in his own quest and free the nation from the Templar grip.

Then, realization hit him like a crashing wave. His father had given him the key to the code of the Templars, used by a former grand master such as himself. Perhaps there was a chance that the French Templars were using the same code?

Digging into the pocket of his uniform jacket, Connor quickly produced the crumpled message that he and Arnaud had taken off that Templar messenger in the streets. Comparing the message with the key provided to him by Jefferson, he quickly set to work.

The first word had already popped up as he entered the key : COUNT

Excited now, Connor set to work, decoding the rest of the message within the next few minutes. He was sure he got it, but even then, it made no sense to him.

COUNT

THE APPLE COMES

HOLD THE VAULT

ESTATES 3

FATHER

Still, there was a mention of the Count, which he deduced, must have been Vergennes. So in that regard, Schaefer was right.

Warily, he pocketed the message, and set off for the coffee shop that quickly becoming a familiar gathering place.

* * *

**Paris, The Next Day**

The backrooms of the Coffee shop were as dim as he had remembered it, although it was a lot quieter now. The Parisan crowds were long gone, and only scarce half a dozen men sat around the table as Connor presented his findings. Along with Arnaud and Schaefer, there was another man joining them, who had been introduced only as Augustin. He was a fellow assassin of the order, and apparently, very trusted by Schaefer as he sat on his right.

"So," Schaefer took the sheaf of paper from Connor, scanning the message with his expert eyes. "It seems you have solved our riddle, impressive considering even our best code breakers from Corisca couldn't do it." He murmured in half wonder. "I would ask how you've managed to do it, but it's obvious I've underestimated your capablilities."

Connor stood with a stoic silence, not bothering with a reply. He considered Schaefer, Arnaud and Charlotte allies, but he didn't care one bit for the man's demeanour.

"Still, I don't want you thinking that we're ungrateful. You do have our thanks _citizen_."

"What does it mean?" The Mohawk asked impatiently. He had decoded the message, but the mention of vaults, apples and the estates eluded him. He was hoping that his French brothers could provide the answer.

At that question, Schaefer gestured towards another of his associates. Arnaud was standing by the door keeping watch, and two more men sat beside Schaefer on the table.

"What do you make of this Augustin?" Schaefer asked.

Augustin, another Frenchman around Connor's age, with the look of a well off gentleman, studied the letter with intent. "It is as we feared? They intend to use the apple?"

Schaefer nodded. "This is disturbing, but it can provide us with the opportunity."

"What is this...'apple'"? Connor asked.

Augustin was wary of explaining it at first, but Schaefer waved it off. "It's okay Augustin, we can trust Connor to know. After all, he will be the one we may send to retrieve it."

The Frenchman seemed to hesitate at first, but then nodded, clearing his throat as he explained. "The Apple of Eden, Connor, is a device created by the Precursors. It allows them the ability to manipulate a person's will, granting its user total and absolute control of their fellow human beings. It is a deadly weapon, which can be used to kill as well as control. The great conquerors and tyrants of history, Genghis Khan, Caesar, Alexander the Great were believed to have possessed these devices." Augustin explained.

"It wasn't until recently, when we assassins have gotten the upper hand." Schaefer added.

Augustin nodded, "Indeed, The Italian Brotherhood under Ezio Auditore obtained an Apple centuries ago, when the Borgia attempted to take over Italy with it. It now lies under their protection in the city of Rome."

"So, this is another Apple then?" Connor replied.

"Yes," Schaefer said sternly. "This may very well be the one from the Russian Order, of Peter the Great."

"Peter the Great?"

"Another monarch Connor, who built his empire on the broken backs of his people. He turned the kingdom of Russia into a great Empire within twenty years. All because of this apple." Schaefer slammed a fist onto the table. "Have you seen Russia, Connor? It is a nation much like our own, ruled by Templars. But it's people are brutalized and enslaved even worse than ours, beyond belief. And the Russians accept this because they've been tamed by the Apple. Their spirits crushed into obedience."

Augustin nodded in confirmation.

"We believed the the Templars had used Russia as a template for what they wish to do here in Europe, taking decades to perfect their techniques. It worked. The Tsars have complete, and absolute control, reducing its people to serfs. They have been doing so for almost a century. Now, they seek to do the same to us in France."

Connor meanwhile, was horrified at this, not sure if he should believe this to be true or not. His father had tried to control the colonies by manipulating public perception and opinion. But to completely take control of a person's will and make them believe anything they wanted? It disgusted hiim.

"We cannot allow them to bring the Apple to France." Augustin said grimly. "It will destroy everything we've worked for and accomplished. It will make even Ezio's work go down in vain."

"They won't." Connor said firmly. "We'll stop them."

"Here here!" Arnaud smirked, leaning cockily against the wall in the background. If it meant slashing more Templar throats, he was in.

"If they are sending out messages to the count." Connor said, "Then that means they haven't received it yet."

"No." Schaefer agreed. "It was probably meant so that he would receive it before calling the Parliament."

At the mention of the word, the room fell silent. So the King's compromise, to call together the first Parliament in over two hundred years was a lie and a ruse? It made perfect sense. To call the leaders of the nation together, where they would be gathered and vulnerable in one place, and use the apple.

"I suppose that's what the message refers to." Augustin offered.

"What do you mean?" Connor asked.

"The ESTATES 3 in this message." Schaefer said grimly. "The Third Estate. It is a gathering of representatives elected to represent the people of France who are not nobility or clergy. So the bourgeoisie, the peasants, everyone else."

"The Parliament would be a first step to using the apple." Augustin deduced. "Once they have the representatives under their control, there would be no united opposition in the government. They would be able to quell any resisting regions in isolation. Divide and conquer."

"And I'm afraid your count is in the middle of it." Schaefer turned to Connor, stating it flatly. "What do you make of his request to work together now?"

Connor's face was a stoic mask. "I will deal with him when the time comes. For now, we must get this Apple, if it is as powerful as they say it is."

This time, it was Arnaud's time to step in, patting Connor on the shoulder. "Our scouts in Bourgogne are sending in reports of Templar activity along the Eastern borders and roads, more to the point, that area is a hot bed of revolutionary activity, with riots in Lyons, Auxonne and Seurre. Perhaps they will seek to use the Apple to quell the area before they proceed to Paris."

"Then that is where we will strike." Connor said firmly.

Schaefer nodded in agreement. "I will send you Augustin and Arnaud to assist in your efforts, along with a few more of our brothers and sister. This is something that may very well decide the fate of our order. Of our nation."

"One more thing..." Connor asked before leaving, pointing down at the last part of the message.

"Who is this... Father? And there is mention of a vault."

"The templars worship this being they call the Father of Understanding. Perhaps it's a play on those words." Schaefer mused, it was ironic, for the Templars did not believe in a Christ, or this, God, but still clinged to some sort of Father figure in their mythology.

"There has been talk of a successor since our friend Connor killed the last Grand Master." Augustin offered carefully, knowing how sensitive the subject was for Connor. "I believe that this 'Father' is simply the code name for the new Grand Master of the Order. Just like the Saint."

"The Saint?" Connor wondered out loud. His message was uncovering revelations more disturbing than he ever imagined.

"Le Saint, to be more precise." Schaefer explained. "He is a ruthless man, who will stop at nothing to maintain the Templar grip on Europe. It is said that he was responsible for wiping out the Corsican Assassins after your father left to the colonies."

"Since your father killed the last Templar Grand Master, Reginald Birch, he assumed his position." Augustin corrected.

Schaefer stood up now, deciding that there was enough talk. "Connor, I will dispatch our men to Bourgogne now. The Parliament is not to be called for some time, so we at least have some time to prepare. Come to us and we can provide you with transport east."

"I will." Connor nodded, as he headed out the door.

"Where are you going my friend?" Arnaud asked as Connor headed out.

"I've got some business to catch up on." The Mohawk replied cryptically.

* * *

**Versailles**

Charles Gravier, The Count of Vergennes scanned the contents of the message that the courier delivered, annoyed at the delays. Once he grasped the contents of the letter, he dismissed the courier, throwing the papers into his fireplace to dispose of the evidence. So, his superiors had concluded that the situation in France was lost, and that they would need to use 'the' apple. Granted, it was the last one the Templars had now, and it had to be used sparingly, thanks to the foolish actions of the Borgia. Now long dead and disgraced.

He sighed, hoping that it wouldn't come to that. After all, he had put a lot of work into making the coalition work. More than that, he enjoyed the great game of diplomacy. The lies, the secrets, the plotting and conspiracy, all to gain an advantage over another. It was the dance of nations, and it was an art he had come to enjoy. The Apples of Eden stripped all that away, and would reduce that experience to a souless transaction.

Still, the Grand Master was right in one sense. The revolutionaries had gotten too strong. Perhaps a demonstration would be needed to get the most radical ones out of the way.

He sighed, turning back to his desk. There were reports of resistance threats to the King, while the Sultan of Turkey was threatening war once again with their brothers in Russia. They were children. All spoiling for the same resources when they should be working together for the common order.

The Americans too, were still clumsy in their newfound freedom, finding themselves engrossed in another rebellion and fighting several Indian wars, all the while decrying poverty when it came to the matter of French Loans. Although those loans were meant to benefit their Templar Brothers in America (now mostly dead), it didn't mean France was not entitled to at least a repayment. Once that matter was settled, and the Royal finances brought to stability, he reckoned, the country would settle down again, and all would be right.

Those dreams however, were for another day. Today, he had a job to do. There was an Apple to guard, and a foolhardy assassin to account for. He hoped that the man would have taken him up on his offer, considering his relationship with Lafayette, but he learned long ago to never underestimate their kind.

He called for his secretary, and when the young man entered his office, notepad in hand. He began dictating.

"A message to Commander De Launay..."

* * *

**Paris, later that night...**

Sheafs of paper lay plastered all over the floor. A sign of the mounting frustration that Connor felt at decoding the messages. It was not that it was hard, far from it, with Jefferson's codes. But Connor was never the type to sit down for so long doing nothing but writing. It was maddening, and he had a new found appreciation for his friend Father Timothy, who spent most of his days writing sermons and reading.

Still, he figured he did enough for one day, and Connor put the pen down, reading the first of several pages that he had already decoded.

_C__onnor. If you are reading this, then you have indeed proved you are worthy of being called an assassin, and my son. It also makes you deserving of the knowledge I'm about to bestow upon you. _

_Why? you may ask? I've been asking that same question myself, but I guess you can say it's because I came to a realization. _

_There was a time when I, like you, thought that there were absolute truths in the world. Truths that were worth fighting and dying for. And I followed that truth with the same zeal you do with yours. _

___I wanted to show you the world as I saw it, and I failed. It seems to me that everything I worked for had been perverted, twisted into something I never intended. That perhaps, is ironic considering my own life. I thought I had control as well, but it turned out that I was being led all along, and I never even realized it._

___For good or ill, I created this for you.  
_

_ Some day, you will realize that it represents more than just a summary of my life's work. It is a key to the future. Your future. _

___I had once dreamed of leaving behind a better world. A nation built on the ideals that would take us to a better future where we may all live in peace. But now as I see that dream lying in ashes around me, I realized I was wrong._

_You are my legacy._

_____I was limited by my circumstances, molded by others without knowing it. Not until it was too late._

_ This is why I'm giving this to you. _

___You will have something_ I've never had. The ability to choose for yourself what you think is true. The freedom to follow your own path. 

_Don't waste it._

_May the Father of Understanding guide you._

_Your Father, Haytham._

Connor dropped the book down as he read the last words, lost in thought. It was obvious his father had written it some time ago, but when? When they first met? Or was it after their meeting with Washington? Or even at Fort George. The fight was a distant memory, but now, he suddenly feeling emotions he never thought he'd feel on that subject, and it bothered him even more as he realized that he left his father's body cold on the ground that day, without so much as closing his eyes, or even giving him a proper blessing and farewell.

He bowed his head low as he recalled that thought.

_"Raké:ni, iyeetsatigh..."_ (father, I'm sorry...)

* * *

**Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - The Estates-General**

The Estate-General was the representative body in late medieval and early modern France – and in French society as a whole, the country was divided into three groups called 'Estates'. The First Estate was comprised of the clergy, the Second Estate the nobility, and the Third Estate everyone else. The Third Estate was thus a vastly larger proportion of the population than the other two estates, but in the Estates General they only had one vote, the same as the other two estates had each (which meant that the people at large, as always, were effectively screwed by their government). Do I also have to mention that the First and Second Estates didn't have to pay taxes? And that they had the Third Estate shoulder the burden of financing the King's government and wars? (Although to be technical, they did lose fair and square! two to one in the votes!)

* * *

**A Shorter chapter for now, as we head closer to the revolution, the story will pick up even more. Thanks everyone for the reviews/faves/reads ! :D**

**teno-hikari: **Thanks Teno! TBH i never played revelations, so I'm glad that I'm at least getting some of those AC2 feels in my story :)

**East Coast Captain : **I agree, I think that if we ever see another sequel with Connor, they'll play on that Naive part of his character, and the eventual harsh lessons of the real world.

**NinjaxSketcheartx:** WOW thanks :) Yes, i do love the colonial assassins, My original draft of this story actually had Connor bringing Clipper along with him in Chapter 1 to France, but who knows, i may decide to do something along those lines later on, but with another assassin :) As for Charlotte, you are right that she has a pivotal role to play in this story, but not in the way you imagine. I know Connor's not the type for those one night stand shinanigans, so no worries on that front :)

**Will Zona -** Thanks :) Ask and ye shall receive!

**Nerdman3000** : I'll see if i can squeeze in a mention somewhere ;)

**Thewriter1713**: Thanks for the review :) And yes, we'll see shall we :D

**TheScoutAssassin:** Glad you like the database entries, and the fact you are enjoying the ambiguity here :) one of the things that struck me most about AC3 was that the Templars weren't totally evil, sometimes I thought Achilles was actually the one with the destructive naivety, or at least, more zealous in making sure all the Templar's died :O

**Mer3Girl:** Thanks for the review! (I love long reviews XD) I think you describe Connor perfectly, heart of a child, mind of a warrior. Indeed, he doesn't seem like the type to settle down this part of his life, that's probably one of the few traits he shares with Ezio. I will try to keep this as close to history as possible, as per the AC franchise :) look forward to more!


	7. Encounter

_Many more months have passed and I find myself no closer to my goal from when I first landed on these shores. The secret messages, and the revelations they brought with them are disturbing to say the least, and although my brothers wish to incriminate Lafayette with the Templars, I do not believe it so. I am sure of his innocence, it is more likely he is being manipulated by our enemies, like so many others. I will have to tread carefully, and gather the evidence required to convince him of our cause. There is not much time.  
_

_The situation is growing more intolerable by the day, and something must be done. I have seen the nobles fatten themselves while women and children go starving in the streets. Riots and insurrections have broken out in the East, and the army patrols have doubled in the past year. The time to act is now. The first step is to secure this weapon they call The Apple. Thanks to my father's writings, I have uncovered many secrets about the French Templars: their names, their tactics, and their organization. With that knowledge, I will do what is right, and free this country._

_ I sometimes wonder, what would my father think of my efforts seeing me now. Would he be proud? Or would he simply laugh? Knowing my struggle was as futile as his? Like fighting against the rise of the moon or the tides?  
_

_Time runs short, but I will do what I have always done, what my mother and Achilles have taught me._

_I will keep going forward.  
_

* * *

**Eastern France, Late Autumn 1786**

The air was cool and brisk this time of year, caressing the trees and hillsides of the French countryside in its gentle wave. In better times, the roads in the area served as a hub for the surrounding merchants, who would fill the highway with their wagons filled with goods and wares.

There were no merchants now, and the road was as barren as the land itself.

A small solitary bird occupied the road, walking around the fog veiled road, digging its beak into the cold earth in an attempt to secure its next meal. The ground was frozen, although an early thaw had already produced a few puddles of mud. The bird eyed the puddles, saw a worm slithering in the brown sludge. It was breakfast time.

Then the ground shook.

It began as a low rumbling at first, but then increased as time passed. There were other sounds now. Sounds of men marching, of drums tapping, bands playing.

The bird quickly flew into the trees, and saw its meal vanish as hundreds of soldiers emerged down the road, trampling the mud and the worm which the bird had eyed. The men wore dark blue uniforms, polished with fine gold buttons. Flags fluttered through the air, as if the sails of a great fleet had suddenly sprouted legs and were marching. Thousands of boots slushed and clomped on the mud, and soon, the fog lifted to reveal even more columns of men, flanked by armoured horsemen in glittering uniforms of gold braid and lace. In the middle of the formation, half a dozen wagons rolled on, their creaky mud-splattered wheels leaving huge marks in their trace. The soldiers marched with an arrogant, confident gait, confident that no starving peasant would be dumb enough to attack this convoy.

From his vantage point in the trees flanking the road, it was an impossible sight to miss, and Connor's breath misted as he exhaled, taking in the sheer number of troops.

"Quite impressive _non?_" Arnaud whispered softly as he climbed the branch next to Connor's, whistling low in appreciation. "That leaves about a hundred for each of us, pretty even odds I'll say."

"What are those troops?" Connor asked, pointing to the unfamiliar mounted soldiers who wore dark green uniforms, along with brass helmets and straight heavy cavalry swords. The cavalrymen acted as scouts for the convoy, trotting their horses alongside and ahead of the French regiment.

"_Dragoons_." Arnaud replied. "Nasty buggers, I wouldn't want to deal with a squadron of those, especially if we're on foot. They're liable to follow you through all the French countryside if they get wind of you."

At this moment, Connor wished he had his fellow brothers and sisters from the colonies with him. Although the Parisan Brotherhood had provided him with a host of their own assassins, they were still ridiculously outnumbered considering the hundreds of troops marching on the road.

Still, this was the most promising convoy thus far, the others being too weakly defended, or producing nothing but military supplies. But to attack a column this size was suicidal, the Assassins would bide their time.

"Word has it the city is in chaos." Arnaud offered. "In chaos, there is opportunity."

Connor nodded, and within moments, the assassin's disappeared amongst the trees, running ahead of the French troops.

* * *

Secure in the knowledge that the convoy was secure, the Templar Colonel took a moment to casually light a cigar as he trotted his horse onward. The countryside was still lovely, even at this time of year, he thought, it was a shame that this excursion would have to be spoiled by a bunch of traitorous peasants.

Officially, the had taken two Guards regiments to quell the resistance, along with a squadron of dragoons. It was overkill for a simple mob insurrection, but the true reason for this heavy escort was the precious prize within the wagons.

The Apple of Eden.

The Colonel himself had never seen the Apple in action, in fact, he didn't even know of its existence until a year ago, when the Grand Master had sent messages detailing how the Order would restore the Monarchy's weakening grip on its own country.

It seemed almost ridiculous that such a thing existed, and he would not have believed it himself had he not heard how the Apple was applied in Russia during the Great Northern War. Peter the Great had used the Apple to turn his backward nation into a great empire; fighting two wars, while constructing a great capital city in the frozen marshes of the Neva. Not only that, he had also successfully won Sweden and Poland over to the Templars, at the same time, weakening Assassin's bastion in the Ottoman Empire. If one Apple could do that, then he could only imagine what a French Monarchy with such power could become.

That of course, would wait until they reached Paris.

Another officer trotted his horse beside the Colonel, and he watched quietly as the man saluted.

"No one knows you're here De Launay?" The Templar Colonel whispered."

"_Non monsieur."_ De Launay replied somewhat nervously, "As far as the higher ups are concerned, I am still back in Paris."

The Colonel nodded, knowing that the Count would do his part to ensure the safe transport of the Apple under De Launay. It was difficult enough getting the Commandant out of the city, for Bernard De Launay was well known throughout Paris, being the commandant of the Bastille.

Although the Bastille had long ago lost it's function as a true prison, (now used only to house misbehaving noblemen) it still served as a bastion of Royalist and Templar control in the city, not to mention guarding the location of the vault.

"The Apple will remain in your possession." The Colonel ordered, quietly wondering how Vergennes could trust this inexperienced nobleman with such a momentous task, but then again, the cowardly and meek would also be the ones less likely to use the Apple for their own ends. It was a safe bet.

"Are you sure you don't want to use it against the uprising?" De Launay asked.

"No, that was never the plan." the Colonel smiled, thinking how clever it was of the count to order this punishing expedition as a diversion.

"We will do this the old fashioned way." The Templar Colonel said with relish, patting his hand on the cavalry sabre by his side "The men need their exercise, and these peasants deserve to learn their lesson, the hard way."

"Very well then." De Launay replied.

"I will provide you with an escort of my finest dragoons." The Colonel said gruffly. "See that you do not fail. Our Order depends on it."

De Launay gulped. "Yes, I will see to it."

"Then go," He nodded. "May the Father of Understanding guide you."

* * *

**Seurre, several days later**

The sky was blood red as the afternoon gave way to an autumn dusk. Both assassins trotted their horses wearily to the outskirts of the town, having traveled for a while. They approached slowly, noticing that already a regiment of French Regulars set up camp. At first, Connor thought they were the Templar troops, but they wore the regular white uniform of the regulars. Deciding that these troops were merely here as a garrison, they would avoid conflict whenever possible, and pass on through to the town.

The farms in the region were desolate, completely barren and dead, unlike the lush countryside of Britanny that he had seen.

They approached a check station, and Connor tensed up as several platoons of white coated infantry made their rounds. At first, he thought the French soldiers were going to approach them, but they paid no mind to the two assassins. Instead, they gathered around a mess tent with tinned cups, eager for a meal. One of the troopers even waved a casual hello to Connor and Arnaud as they passed.

From the cooking tents, the sweet waft of stewed meat and vegetables filled the air, and Connor felt his stomach growl, but he urged his horse onward, knowing he had more important tasks at hand.

He was stopped however, as a child ran across the road directly in front of him toward the mess tents. Connor had to rein back his horse to prevent running over the child, but the boy took no notice as he wandered towards the soldiers.

The Mohawk instinctively turned around and watched the child as he approached the soldiers. The boy was gaunt and thin, as if he hadn't eaten in days. And the lad stared wistfully at the soldiers as they gathered their rations and cooked food.

As one of the soldiers turned and approached the boy, Connor steadied his hand, readying his Mohawk. He had seen the French Guards in the capital and how they treated the poor and starving. If it was necessary, he was prepared to intervene and 'liberate' the food for the peasants in the area. Two platoons of French Regulars would be nothing between two assassins.

As he was ready to jump to the defense of the child, to his surprise, the guard smiled at the boy.

"It's all right, we won't hurt you. Come, tell me your name." The French sergeant said.

The boy stared back blankly, until he finally stepped forward cautiously. "Pierre."

"That's better lad!" The sergeant replied, "Are you hungry?"

"_Oui_, Monsieur." The lad squeaked, his eyes sunken and hallow.

Then, one by one, Connor noticed more children emerging on his side of the road, approaching the French camp, like dark shapes gathering around the cooking fires.

"Good lord, when was the last time you had a bite to eat?" A private said sympathetically,and before long, more figures emerged from the trees, Men and women who held their hands out meekly for scraps of bread and bowls of stew.

"What are you waiting for?" The sergeant whispered. "Give them something to eat."

Connor then watched disbelieving as the French soldiers began unloading the supplies from their wagon to distribute to the starving peasants. It seemed to go against everything he had believed at this point concerning the army, but then again, he admitted, not everyone was a heartless Templar, the soldiers were as much victims as anyone in this case.

"Puts a bit of perspective into things does it no?" Connor said softly as Arnaud reined in beside him.

"Some of them are good people." Arnaud admitted. "In the end, we are all on the same side, it is just unfortunate that the Templars and the Aristocrats get them to do their dirty work."

"What's going on here?!" An officer suddenly emerged from behind the supply wagons, having noticed the gathering of peasantry in the area. Connor hesitated jumping in, tomahawk and guns blazing, for the soldiers would then be forced to defend their officer, but he also didn't want this officer to deprive the people of their food.

Helpless in the moment, Connor watched sullenly.

The young officer was thin, slightly gaunt, and looked very familiar for some reason. Where had Connor seen him before?

"These are military supplies sergeant. Load up the wagon and get these people out of here." The officer said firmly.

The Sergeant and his corporals exchanged brief glances, "but sir, these children, they're starving."

"I gave you an order Sergeant, I expect you to follow it." The officer said briskly.

"Sir...please look first." The sergeant said quietly, gesturing at the group of gaunt faced children that stared blankly at the cooking pot. Some were just sitting still with blank eyes, but to the officer, he seemed to have noticed a young girl among them as well, her eyes half sunken from exhaustion and starvation, while in her arms was what seemed like a pile of rags, but turned out to be the limp body of a boy.

It was a hard scene to swallow as Connor realized what she was carrying, and it seemed to have even made a bigger impression on the officer, who seemed to have a lump building in the back of his throat. He continued looking at the skeletal figures around him, and there was a pained look in the man's eyes as though he were going through an internal struggle with his conscience and his duty. Finally, he relented.

"Feed them..." He said softly, swallowing his breath. "Feed them all. Make sure they each get a decent meal."

Relieved, the sergeant saluted. "Yes sir."

Against the protests of Arnaud, Connor found himself walking towards the French Officer, and rather than putting a blade in his back, he placed his hand firmly on the man's shoulder.

"You did the right thing." The Mohawk said.

The officer turned around in surprise, expecting to be attacked, but once he saw no ill intent in Connor's eyes, he relaxed.

"I have a sister her age." The officer said softly. "No one should have to live like this. It's intolerable."

Connor found himself nodding in agreement. Then, at that moment, a flicker of recognition passed in his eyes.

"You." The Mohawk said firmly. "I recognize you from Paris, in the coffee shop. With Citizen Schaefer."

At the mention of the name, the officer quickly hushed Connor quiet, turning his head around to make sure that none of the men overheard.

"Sorry." He apologized. "You'll have to excuse my nervousness, it's not exactly befitting of an officer to associate himself with Jacobins. I ask that you use that name in discretion. It is true that I have...ventured there for some coffee and small talk, but the King's police and guards have eyes and ears everywhere. I'd rather not give them that impression that I'm associated with the-"

"The Radicals?" Connor asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Indeed, they are called radicals, but it doesn't mean they don't have a point; That our country is sick, and she is in need of saving." The officer replied.

"That we can both agree on." Connor smiled, then extended his hand to the officer. "My name is Connor by the way."

The officer took off his bicorne hat, and nodded politely, shaking Connor's hand. "Lieutenant Napoleon Buona Parte, at your service monsieur."

As Connor nodded, a crack of a musket shot echoed from the city, followed by several more low rumblings of gunfire spreading from the city square.

"Connor!" Arnaud shouted, pointing to the city, where already a battalion of French Guards were moving in. "It's begun!"

Napoleon nodded, as if to confirm Arnaud's suspicions.

"We were advised to stay out here until the Guards finished with the mob. We are told that the rebels have taken the town, overruning the mayor's office and burning down the factory district. I suggest _monsieur,_ you get out of the city. Things are becoming very ugly."

Connor found himself shaking his head. "No, I must press onto the city, there is some business we need to take care of."

Lieutenant Buona Parte was about to pull Connor back, but he sensed that the man seemed to have enough experience in battle, being a soldier himself.

"Then I wish you good luck _mon ami._ Until we meet again."

Connor nodded in thanks, then turned to Arnaud.

"Come! Let's go!"

Before Napoleon could say any more, Connor was already off, dashing his horse towards the burning buildings of the city.

* * *

The market square was a disaster. A charnel house of death and destruction. Soldiers and Rioters ran rampant throughout the area, fighting each other as well as ransacking the houses. The ground was littered with loot, silverware, cutlery, gold, money, clothes, rugs, as though a tornado had swept the city. Amidst the fighting, bodies began piling up on the street corners, bleeding profusely from bullet and stab wounds.

More looters ran out of a house, carrying a whole cupboard full of family heirlooms, old antiques and coins. While captured partisans, tied and gagged, were forced to watch all this on their knees, Bayonets pointing menacingly at their necks.

"This is madness Connor." Arnaud shouted above the din of battle, "Where do we even start?"

Connor at this point, gazed upwards at the rooftops, where half a dozen of their fellow brothers and sisters had gathered, waiting for his signal.

"Join the others in locating the Templar head quarters. I'll proceed on foot." Connor said gruffly.

"You're a crazy bastard, you know that?" Arnaud smirked. "A crazy magnificent bastard." The Assassin gave a brisk salute, before climbing up to the rooftops to join Augustin and his band.

With the chaos before him, Connor wasted no time in wading through it. Unsheathing his tomahawk, he immediately kicked down the door of the nearest house, where he had heard a woman's scream.

The ancient wooden door gave way with a heavy sigh, throwing up heavy clouds of dust in the small one room house. His sword made a scraping sound on the side of the door as he jumped into the room

There was a woman in the house, and Connor saw that a French Chasseur was already on top of her, ravaging her viciously. The man hit her as she screamed and struggled, and he saw the blood flowing through her legs.

Without hesitating, Connor grabbed the chasseur by the shirt and pulled him away from the woman. The man's back slammed violently into the wall.

The Chasseur, furious at being interrupted, snarled and tried to pull his sabre, but Connor gave the man a vicious kick in the stomach and a punch in his throat. The Frenchman barely had time to react as Connor heard the sickening snap of his throat as the man's head whipped backwards.

The woman huddled in the corner fearfully now, and Connor suggested she hide in the cellar, then bowed and left, there were more problems going on in the market and he guessed from the volume of the soldiers and musket fire, that it was where the fighting was raging the hardest.

As he emerged into the streets, Connor heard a new sound, the low rumbling in the distance that was all too familiar to him.

Artillery?

Shouts came from the streets now, and more pops of the musket cut through the quiet atmosphere of the late afternoon. Doors were being slammed now, and shouts from French officers echoed through the street.

_ "Mettez la bayonette au bout du canon!" _

_"En Avance!"_

Connor watched in horror as he saw the scene from down the street. The rioters and the mob were running about, desperately trying to escape the French Guardsmen. Some of the mob were more aggressive, confronting the soldiers with pitchforks, muskets, torches and rocks. The officers tried their best and formed a crude firing line down the street, the French soldiers fumbled with their muskets nervously.

Muskets coughed from the crowd, and knives were thrown as well. One unfortunate regular was torn to pieces literally as the peasants came at him with pitchforks, knives and axes. His screams were overwhelmed by the explosion of musketry from the French line.

The rioters fell by the dozens, among them many women, yet the mob showed no sign of letting up and they charged the French line. Some of the men, who had just been roused out of bed, ran, while the more sturdier grenadiers met the crowd's ferocity with their own, they charged in with bayonets.

The situation on the street was chaos. It seemed as if every civilian had suddenly developed a blood lust for the French. Soldiers ran in panic from a group of men brandishing knives, while another section of a street dissolved into a fighting mass of dying men. Cavalrymen were mixed in on the action too, pieces of other regiments fought for their lives in the streets. A group of dragoons and chasseurs barricaded themselves inside a house, while others fought in the streets. Men screamed in pain as Peasants tore at them with knives, torches and even their bare hands. One dragoon had his skull broken into when an old woman dropped a pot on him from her second story window. It was sheer chaos, and the sounds of muskets firing, swords parrying and flesh being sliced filled the air. There was an awful sweet smell of burning flesh that Connor tried his best to ignore.

The streets were filling with bodies now, some French, some civilian. All were mauled so horribly that they were unrecognizable, and Connor's boots made a sickening squishing sound as he ran through the blood soaked streets. A Guard was thrown out of a window, where a crowd of partisans impaled him on their pikes as he landed on the crowd. French grenadiers kicked a man to the ground, shooting him in the crouch before bayoneting his throat.

It was chaos.

To his left, Connor saw some French Chasseurs forming a firing line against an equally sized mob of partisans charge at him with clubs and torches. Offciers began rattling out orders and Connor wasted no time as he closed the distance.  
_  
"À gauche!"_ The men performed the left face with stunning precision.  
_  
"Présentez vos armes! FEU!"_

The chasseurs fired, and the mob disintegrated. Men fell back with bullets in their head while others simply dropped their weapons and ran away, content to seek easier prey.

Through the smoke, Connor emerged, burying his tomahawk into the skull of one of the light infantryman. The man barely had time to fall before Connor unsheathed his hidden blade, parrying another bayonet thrust from a chasseur and pulling the man towards him. He gave the guard a swift kick to his knees, breaking the joints and sending the man tumbling down in an agony of pain. Another efficient cut of the tomahawk left another man sliced across the neck.

As Connor dispatched the final guard, shooting the man through the open mouth with his pistol, he turned to see an extravagantly dressed officer on a horse, this one escorted by another platoon of guards.

"Connor Kenway." The Templar Colonel trotted forward, resplendent in the dark blue uniform of a French Guard. "We meet at last."

"Where is the Apple?" Connor demanded, eyes darting side to side as he noticed more dragoons and chasseurs closing in around him.

"You are too late, the apple is long gone." The Templar Colonel sneered triumphantly, then pulled his pistol to the assassin. "But you, you are mine. _Assassin!_"

Before Connor could react, the Colonel fired the pistol, and Connor felt his shoulder jerk back as the musket ball grazed him. At that instant, he also threw the tomahawk forward, taking the Colonel's horse in the neck. The animal whinnied furiously as it fell to the ground, dropping the colonel. While the man was of no immediate threat, Connor saw that the Chasseurs and dragoons of the Colonel's guard closed in for the kill.

But he couldn't move, his body was pinned down.

Connor's world in that instant faded to white, and he saw nothing, but he heard it all. The low bird whistle, and the dying screams of the surrounding chasseurs as blades dug into backs and necks. Soon, Connor felt strong arms dragging him away. Away from the fighting and the blood.

* * *

The assassins had retreated just in time, for a new sound filled the air. Trumpets, and horns.

The cavalry had arrived.

The dragoons and cuirassiers, rumbled through the streets, an irresistible tidal wave of horse flesh, armour, and steel.

The mob broke now, every man, woman and child running for their lives. French lances dug into the backs of many rioters, while others were simply run over.

The dragoons took their time, galloping alongside the running men until they were just ahead of them, then sending a backward swipe of the sword into the men's face, cutting it in two.

Others fired carbines and pistols from their saddles, cheering as they went on.

Amidst the calm on the street, surrounded by the bodies of his dead guards was the Templar Colonel. His mount killed but he himself very much alive, the man cursed violently as he retrieved his bicorne hat from the bloody ground. He would get that assassin yet...

* * *

Connor grunted in pain as he came to, his fellow brothers and sisters camping in a nearby field outside the smoking city.

"What...what happened?" Connor felt his shoulder was on fire, and saw that his comrades had stripped the uniform jacket off him, revealing his toned shoulders and chest, but this time, with a bandage wrapped over his upper arm and shoulder."

"It was a close one Connor." Arnaud said seriously, patting Connor on his back as he came to. "But we got there just in time." He grinned.

"I told you I would save your life _mon ami_." Arnaud said with cocky smile. "That's one life you owe me by the way."

"You have my thanks." Connor said as the Frenchman lifted him up by the arm.

"So what now? It looks like the Apple is on its way to Paris, and they are sure to use it soon." Arnaud spat, his face bloody and bruised, he had obviously had his own run in with the French Guards dragging Connor out.

Connor took another look at the city in the distance, the crowd was long gone, and the street was quiet, only this time filled with the bodies of hundreds. Upturned carts and broken doors and windows decorated the scenery, and everything imaginable, vases, clothes, curtains, beds, were thrown into the streets, in tatters. Pillars of smoke rose from the district, evidence of the grim battle and slaughter that had taken place.

So many had lost their lives today, and Connor knew there would be hell to pay.

"We head back." Connor said firmly. "I believe it is time I pay the Count of Vergennes a visit."

* * *

******Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings** - Napoleon Buona Parte  


MEMO TO BRITISH HIGH COMMAND

There is a young French officer you need to watch out for. I know, he is just a lieutenant, and newly promoted at that, but my instincts tell me this guy is nothing but trouble, and I mean TROUBLE. His name is Bonaparte, and he just has a certain flair and charisma - trust me on this one, you'll be much better off if you can find a way to get rid of him quietly. Just send agent 004 or 005 out here quickly for a "liquid affair" and no one will be the wiser.

******Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings** - Bernard-René de Launay  


The marquis Bernard-René Jordan de Launay was born on the night of 8/9 April 1740 in the Bastille where his father was governor. At the age of eight he was appointed to an honourary position in the King's Musketeers (_mousquetaires du roi_). He subsequently entered the French Guards (_gardes-françaises_), a regiment permanently stationed in Paris except in time of war.

In 1776 de Launay succeeded M. de Jumilhac as Governor of the Bastille. The years that he spent in this position were uneventful, though on 19 December 1778 he made the serious mistake of failing to fire the cannon of the Bastille as a salute on the birth of a daughter (Madame Royale) to King Louis XVI (a career killer if I've ever heard of one!). Until 1777 he was Seigneur of Bretonnière in Normandy.

**Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - Chasseurs  
**

The _Chasseurs à pied_ were the light infantrymen of the French line. They were armed the same as their counterparts in the regular line infantry battalions but were trained to excel in marksmanship and in executing manoeuvres at high speed. Used mainly for skirmishing and scouting, these elite light infantry regiments were taught to think on their feet in a fight, sniping from cover and fighting in pairs whilst harrassing enemy lines, rather than having the courtesy standing still in a straight line to make it convenient for the other side to shoot them (I tell you, war is not what it used to be).

**Animus Database - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - French Dragoons**

Dragoons are essentially mounted infantry, who were trained in horse riding as well as infantry fighting skills. However, usage altered over time and during the 18th century, dragoons evolved into conventional light cavalry units and personnel. Dragoon regiments were established in most European armies during the late 17th and early 18th centuries. The name is possibly derived from a type of firearm **(or because they can also breath fire, I tend to forget which**) carried by dragoons of the French Army.

Unlike their city-bound cousins, the French Guards. French Dragoons are mounted on fast horses, able to chase down their prey through miles of open frontier country if necessary. (A horse does wonders when retreating!)

* * *

**Nerdman3000 **: Thanks nerdman ;) and of course, I will try to reference past games as much as i can, although i actually haven't played AC1 yet :S i started with AC2 haha, so one day i will get to that game!

**NinjaxSketcheartx **Yeah, i was very disappointed with how Haytham's story ended in AC3 :( it had to be more complicated than that! hence this :D And you are on the mark with Lafayette, this won't be pretty indeed :o

**East Coast Captain : **I can see the war of 1812 being a very real possibility for Connor, although I'm not sure he can still fight at 58...ezio himself had his last game when he was like 51 right?

**will zona **I agree, despite how the story and the writing for AC3 went, i think Haytham cared more for his son than we may even know, as evidenced by forsaken the novel :)

**HoldenCaulfied **: Thanks for the feedback, glad you like it :) I actually will cover mainly the French revolution, Napoleonic wars we will see. I never played the multiplayer so i will try to incorporate the Frenchman if i can once i research more!

**Mer3Girl:** nerd moments will never be held against you XD in fact, they are encouraged. Glad you're loving the descriptions! And i consider it a great compliment that you are thinking of the controller as you read the fight scenes :D i try to make them fluid. Yes, i wish they showed more of Ben Franklin as well as Connor's better side in the story. but that's what fanfics are for XD

**TheScoutAssassin:** THank you scout! yes, the knowledge Haytham imparts will have an impact later on. But who said this story was ending soon? :D more ground to cover!


	8. Reckoning

**Paris, Several weeks later, Winter 1786  
**

It hit him all at once, like a tidal wave. Perhaps the musket ball had not been extracted as cleanly as the doctors had hoped, or maybe the exhaustion of the day's battle had weakened him.

Nevertheless, Connor felt like he was at the edge of death.

The days and nights passed by endlessly, and the Mohawk found himself losing all semblance and track of time as he lay on the cot. Hands on him and cloth being pulled over his body, was it to simply keep him warm? Or to cover him for burial? He wasn't sure, for he felt nothing but weakness and pain.

Vainly, he tried lifting his hands to take the covers off, but he could barely move them. A small hand would effectively block his movements, laying it gently by his side while another hand wiped his forehead with a cold cloth..

Suddenly, Connor felt something cold being pressed into his mouth, liquid spilled through and down his throat. It was cool, refreshing - water- but it tasted like bile, nothing like the cleansing stream or glacial waters of home, it was rancid, filled with the smell of fish, wood...and Connor coughed it up, letting it dribble off the side of his mouth.

"He's rejecting the water, this isn't good."

It was a man's voice, but whose? and who was this person talking to?

"You would too if I shoved half a bottle down your throat like that!" Another voice, a woman's shouted distinctly.

Connor groaned, every movement causing an ache in his bones, but he nonetheless willed his body so. It didn't take long before he summoned the strength to utter a phrase.

"Help me up."

"_Mon dieu, h_e's awake!" The woman shouted.

"So he is." The man replied, and Connor opened his eyes to see the familiar, and smiling face of Arnaud. The woman who had rubbed his forehead with the cloth was another familiar face. Charlotte.

"We were afraid that we'd lost you to fever Connor._" _Charlotte said, excitement and relief mixed in her voice.

"It will take more than a Templar _batard_ to knock our friend out. Isn't that right?" Arnaud grinned.

Connor propped himself up, sitting on his bed despite the protests of Charlotte.

"How long was I out?"

"A few weeks." Arnaud replied. "You were fine for a few days after the attack, but one day you just dropped flat out of the saddle on our way back to Paris. We carried you back to the city as fast as we could. Your friend Ambassador Jefferson's seemed to have no issue with us staying while you recuperated. Augustin has already been dispatched to inform Schaefer of our progress."

Connor nodded as he recalled the memory, vaguely. They had ridden straight into the countryside for days following the attack on Seurre, his bandaged shoulder still raw from having the musket ball pulled out. Obviously, it wasn't a clean wound, and he was lucky to still be alive.

"Where is Lafayette?" Connor asked, his voice still hoarse from the fever.

"He dropped some packages for you from your American friends." Arnaud replied, "Then buggered off to Versailles. Something about an assembly that was to be called soon."

That sparked a memory. The Apple! With it in the Templar's possession, they would surely use it now on the unsuspecting assembly.

"I have to stop him." He grunted.

"Rest up _mon ami."_ Arnaud reassured his friend. "The Assembly of the Notables isn't for another few months. And in the meantime, we can plan our next course of action."

Connor nodded, lying back down on the bed, much to the relief of the gathered assassins, he quickly scanned the room, and saw his gear lying piled up on a nearby table, with one notable exception.

"Where's my Tomahawk?"

Arnaud frowned, shaking his head. "I'm sorry mon ami, we didn't have a chance to retrieve it from the battle. It's as good as lost."

That struck at the core of the Mohawk, who had come to rely on the weapon ever since he was a child. It was more than just a tool, it had sentimental value as well, and he had lost it.

Sensing his distress, Arnaud produced a package for Connor. "No need to worry though, your friends in the Americas are thoughtful enough to send you extra gear. Here, this is a package for you that arrived by your ship, the _Aquila_. From someone called Aveline."

"Let me see it." Connor said sternly as he took the package, it was a small rectangular box that looked like it could scarcely hold even a small knife. But Connor's eyes lit up in recognition as he laid eyes on the weapon that was sent to him.

He had a plan now. Once he recovered, he would act.

* * *

**February 1787**

The Compte de Vergennes watched the passing citizens idly as he stared from the window of his office at the Tuileries. Winter was ending, and the first signs of the spring thaw were evident as the first flowers began blossoming in the King's gardens, with small blades of grass poking out from under the once barren soil. Spring birds were returning, and the fleet of river boats that had stayed at dock all winter were once again sailing down the Seine.

It was a clear sunny day and Paris was as beautiful as she had ever been. Hard to imagine that such a scene was on the verge of being thrown into utter chaos, but with the revolutionaries gaining ground day by day, it seemed more and more of a possibility.

That was why the apple was so important. That was why he had been relieved when De Launay had come to him with a letter saying that it was now safely stowed into the vault, where it would be reserved for use at the proper time. The winter had been a long and anxious one, and there had been several close calls on the Apple's perilous journey to Paris. The guards regiments had found themselves embroiled in insurrections in Lyons and Seurre, which had to be put down violently. A lifetime of politics had told Vergennes that the situation was now at its most delicate, and the latest finance reports were disturbing to say the least. France was destitute, and unless the monarchy found a solution to paying its bills, the _ancien regime_ which the Templars had spent the last several centuries carefully constructing would collapse.

So serious was the situation, that it had been a part of Vergenne's schemes to do the unthinkable: try and work out an arrangement with the assassins.

He was not as militant as some of his other brothers, he believed with the right persuasion, their members could be made to see the error of their ways. After all, had it not worked with Haytham? One of the greatest Templars of the Order? It was a shame that man was gone now. Dead at the hands of his own son, who was now dogging the Templars in France. And thanks to that fight in Seurre, it was probably safe to assume that he was firmly against them now.

The coalition he had dreamed of was in ruins, and at the moment, Vergennes could only direct his frustration at the Templar Colonel, who stood warily at attention in front of his office desk, along with the Nobleman.

"I warned you against this." Vergenne slammed his fist on the desk in frustration.

The Templar Colonel eyed the Count, who was glaring at him.

"We had no choice." The colonel replied with a sigh. "The assassins attacked us, we merely defended ourselves."

"You made an open invitation to be attacked when you threw your men into the city like common rabble." Vergennes snapped, sitting back in his chair. "I warned you, to avoid confrontation with the assassins until we were able to establish a common link for negotiation: Connor Kenway. Now, because of your little escapade, we've lost that chance!"

"He was an assassin who tried to steal the apple." The colonel shrugged. "What do you expect me to do? Let him take it?"

"We were prepared for his interference." Vergennes said harshly. "That was why De Launay was called for."

"You weren't there to make the call when Lyons and Seurre rose up in rebellion." The colonel countered. "What was I to do? Let the peasants run free to pillage the countryside? You should know Count, that the first casualty of any battle is the plan."

"Yes," Vergennes replied rather wearily. "And the plan would have been to send the regular army to deal with it, and have your guards march back to Paris." The French noble frowned. "Now, not only have we engaged in direct conflict with them, but you've also managed to destroy my work at establishing contacts within the French Brotherhood. Contacts which have now vanished and are lost to us! And even if we were to fight against them, you have failed at capturing Connor Kenway in the melee, now he is doubtless plotting against us with the French assassins."

"I've only lost him temporarily." The Colonel replied confidently, "He can't stay hidden forever. My Guards regiments and agents are on his scent."

The colonel smirked at that last remark, patting the Assassin tomahawk he carried on his belt, a souvenir from the last battle, and one which he intended to reunite with its owner as soon as possible, preferably by the blade first.

"And where is this assassin now?" Vergennes stood up impatiently, walking towards the Templar Colonel. "It's been months since your skirmish, but I've yet to hear anything more from him."

"Doubtless he is back in Paris." The Colonel replied. "Besides, we have more important business to deal with, particularly with the Assembly of the Notables the King is planning, why worry so much about one man?"

"You've stirred the beast Colonel. This 'one man' single handedly destroyed Colonial Order, as well as murdered one of our best and brightest Grand Masters." Vergennes shook his head. "And now, thanks to your efforts, he's not only aligned against us, but he will be twice as careful now and more difficult to locate."

"This, in short, was a disaster." Vergennes continued. "Your methods were militant and fanatic, and completely uncalled for."

"As a Templar commander, I should consider that a compliment." The Colonel snarled back. "It was a military decision of the moment."

"That is fine in most cases," Vergennes shrugged, "But this time, your blunt methods have antagonized those who we need to have on our side in maintaining the monarchy. You've placed our cause and the work and effort of years in jeopardy!"

"Am I relieved then?" The Colonel said sharply, taking a step back as if preparing to unsheath his sword.

"No." Vergennes replied, unconcerned with the colonel's hostility. "God knows we need every man. I expect that France will soon be at war with herself unless we can bring the situation under control. However, I expect you to follow my instructions _to the tee _going forward. Is that understood?"

"_Absolument." _ The colonel saluted, his pose ramrod straight.

"Good," The count sighed. "Now, the Assembly of the Notables is about to begin soon. You are right in that aspect, we'll need to secure the cooperation of the nobles in our first step to maintaining the monarchy. Have the Apple ready for me when we arrive at Versailles, and see that the Palace is secure. Colonel, ensure that your men have the palace secure. I do not want any interruptions when we use the apple."

The Colonel nodded. "sir."

Vergennes then turned to the nobleman. "You, will gather the main members of the nobility we need to convert to our cause to the assembly. Make sure they are well within range when we deploy the apple."

"Of course," The nobleman bowed low.

"Then go, and may the Father of Understanding guide you." Vergennes said firmly, aligned against them or not, Connor could not be allowed to interfere at this delicate stage of the operation.

* * *

The Swiss Guards of the palace raised their muskets in salute as Vergennes passed, and the Count nodded briefly in acknowledgment as the escort of guards and dragoons led him down the courtyard on the way to his carriage. It was a daily routine that suddenly weighed more heavily on the Count's mind, for he had been extra careful in avoiding open public spaces and isolated roads since the skirmish with the Assassins. Their order may have been weakened for centuries, but he still had a healthy respect for an assassin's blade, particularly coming down from the rooftops above.

As he walked down the steps, the count swatted his neck in annoyance as he felt a mosquito bite his neck, but his eyes never darted away from the gathering crowds that watched his departure. Never mind that, he already took the precaution of planting several of his agents amongst the common people, along with several platoons of guards on standby. If any assassin was foolish enough to hide within the crowd, they would be found.

As the count approached his carriage, he took one last look at the Tuileries, and the splendor and opulence of the palace seemed to put him at ease. It was magnificent, a reminder of the splendor and power that the Templars had built for so many centuries, one that would stand the test of time, he reckoned, once the Assassins were properly dealt with.

He approached the coach door, and the porter bowed low as he opened it. The Count sighed, perhaps he was just being paranoid after all, the last few months had gone by without incident, just this final stretch, and it would matter not what Connor or the Assassins did, for the entire nobility of France would be under the thrall of the apple.

As the count entered the carriage, he took one last look at the crowd to see if anyone was prepared to brave the defenses, but no one stirred as the coach doors closed, and the coachman cracked the whip, sending them onward along the cobblestone streets of the city.

* * *

Vergennes breathed a sigh of relief as the carriage rattled through the city, surrounded by an escort of green coated dragoons. For the moment at least, he was safe, now, all he had to do was get to the palace, meet up with the Colonel and await the Assembly of the Notables. Once that was done, and the power of the nobles and politicians aligned with the crown, he would have the luxury of dealing with those damned Assassins.

"Count."

Vergennes eyes widened as the porter sitting across from him suddenly spoke and a chill ran up the Count's spine as he took a look at the servant who had closed the door for him, dressed in the finery of the French court, but now that he had a much clearer look under the powdered wig, he saw the familiar face at last.

In his lifetime of living as a nobleman, he hardly paid any attention to the servants in his employ, never bothering to learn their names, much less their faces. To him, they were as common place and ordinary as a piece of furniture that one saw in a room every day of their lives. He cursed himself quietly...realizing how easily he had been duped, yet at the same time, he was slightly impressed by how easily the young man had managed to slip past all his defenses.

_Hiding in plain sight indeed._

After what seemed like an eternity, Vergennes sighed deeply.

"Connor...So, you've made your decision it seems." Count Vergennes eyed Connor warily_._

There was what seemed like eternity of silence after the question. A bead of sweat dropped down the counts face as he gathered already from Connor's hardened gaze what he had come here for.

"I did." Connor nodded, his hidden blade was still unsheathed in his wrist, but the count tensed up, seeing Connor bring his arm back up.

"You should have taken my offer Connor...and come to me earlier. We could have made it work out, for both the Templars and Assassins." Vergennes said almost disappointingly.

"Make it work out? As you had done for all those citizens at Seurre?"

Vergennes silently cursed the colonel. "It wasn't by my order."

"By your order or not, their blood is on your hands." Connor scoffed without any sympathy. "And now you plan to use the apple on the assembly?"

The count shrugged, hiding his surprise that Connor even knew about the Apple, how was that even possible? Did the Assassins break their coded dispatches?

"The Apple was supposed to be a last resort, against the hardliners." The count said. "I was hoping to persuade the nobles to agree to the king's reform. And if they didn't agree. Some sacrifices have to be made."

"Like the dead men, women and children I saw back at the city." Connor hardened his voice.

Vergennes sighed. "Perhaps it was naive of me to think you could have been persuaded to cooperate with us. I expected more from Haytham's son."

The mere mention of the name irked Connor more than he thought. "Then you should know better about how I trust the Templars, considering my own father's example, you would have betrayed me as well."

"Knowing what I know now, you would have been right." Vergennes smiled sadly.

"So what now Connor?" Count Vergennes spread his arms wide in a dramatic gesture. "You kill me and escape? Not likely considering you are surrounded by my guards."

"I've already killed you. Before you even stepped foot into this carriage." Connor said solemnly, his eyes piercing straight into the count's very soul.

Vergennes almost wanted to laugh at the gesture. "What are you talking abou-"

He paused in mid sentence as Connor revealed the object in his hand. It was an unfamiliar weapon, more common in the bayous of Louisiana than the cold northern frontiers of the colonies, but in his brief time with Aveline, Connor became very familiar with the weapon.

A blow pipe, and a small thin poison dart.

Horror dawned on Vergenne's face as he grasped the significance of the weapon. He began rubbing his neck. _That mosquito bite. It wasn't a mosquito..._

The world suddenly began spinning for the count as the poison took it's effect, and Vergennes hacked and coughed as he slid back into his seat, the life slowly seeping out of him.

"What...What have you done." The Count gasped as he lay back in his chair.

"I have done what is necessary, now men like Lafayette and Mirabeau can continue their work, unimpeded by you." Connor said seriously.

"You fool..." Vergennes replied. "I was working _with_ them to secure France's future. Your friend Lafayette may be loved by the people, but he has no experience in the affairs of the state and on ruling the common people, and Mirabeau, he's no different."

Slightly relieved at the confirmation that Lafayette was not involved in the Templar's schemes. Connor grabbed Vergenne's collar as the older man slumped back, holding him up face to face.

"Where is the Apple? and who was the officer in charge of its protection?" He asked.

"I guess it doesn't make a difference now." The count smiled weakly. "He is Colonel De Grancey of the French Guard. But you are too late, the Apple is in possession of our vault keeper. And without me at the assembly, it will be out of your reach."

The count coughed and hacked, spewing out small bouts of blood.

"You_ may think you are making a difference, you may be right. But not in the way you think. Your actions today have doomed hundreds of thousands, if not more. You've thrown my country into the flames. You should know by now. There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who create, and those who destroy. Your own people suffered for it when you intervened."  
_

Connor gritted his teeth as the old man chuckled softly in his death throes.

_"That's something you assassins have never understood, something you've never been willing to acknowledge, even with all your power and skills. Yes, there are bound to be atrocities, but we must pay the price now to secure our future. The cost may be high up front, yes, but it will save many more lives in the long run. Your creed is nothing but a whimsical and naive view of the world. It has kept you from doing what needs to be done to save mankind from itself. That is why it is the duty of the Templars to step into the void and do what is right for the people."_

___"You say you are building a future... It's poetic in a way. I only wish i could see what kind of world you assassins can create, whose hands are only good for destruction."_

Connor let go of the count now, and the old man gave one last cough as the poison slowly took root inside his body, robbing him of his sight and the movement of his limbs.

The count whispered his final words as he closed his eyes.

_"If you deal with death...then it shall be your payment. Remember that, Connor. Remember it well."_

Vergennes gave one last gasp of breath as he fell back on his seat. Dead.

Connor watched silently as the man collapsed into his seat, then leaned forward to close the Count's eyes and uttered a few words of passing in his native language.

_"(There is no death. Only a change of worlds. May you find the peace that you seeked.)"_

His job done, Connor kept an eye out on the road ahead, where already Arnaud and a few of his men were prepared to assist in Connor's escape.

As the carriage rounded the corner, Connor gave a low bird whistle, and the dragoons at the front of the escort reared their horses back as a crowd of Parsians rushed the coach. The dragoons had their hands full as the riled up citizens pulled at their horses and bridles, causing several to tumble and fall back. The captain of the guard shouted orders frantically, diverting the remaining dragoons away so that Connor remained unseen as he opened the coach door, jumping out and discarding his porter's wig and uniform, and vanishing smoothly into the crowd that gathered as the mob soon grew into a riot.

One Templar was dead, and a high ranking one at that. But if the Count's last words and his father's own journals were of any indication, his work was far from over.

* * *

_**Animus Database : The Assembly of Notables 1787**  
_

Historically, the Assembly of Notables was a group of notables invited by the King of France to consult on matters of state. But unlike the Estates General, whose members were elected by the subjects of the realm, the members of the Assemblies were selected by the king for their "zeal", "devotion", and their "fidelity" to the sovereign, and assemblies included royal princes, peers, archbishops, important judges, and, in some cases, major town officials. The king would issue a reforming edict or edicts after hearing their advice.

While the an Assembly of Notables had no legislative power in its own right, in the late 1780s, the King hoped that if the Assembly of Notables could be made to support the proposed reforms it would apply pressure on the parlement to register them. The plan failed, as the 144 Notables who made up the Assembly included Princes of the Blood, archbishops, nobles and other people from privileged positions in society, and they did not wish to bear the burden of increased taxation (ungrateful bastards!). The Assembly insisting that the proposed tax reforms had to be presented to a representative body such as an Estates General.

Count Vergennes was supposedly a part of the assembly, and his voice would have lent great weight to the proposed reforms on the King's side, but he had the indecency to die before the meeting. That's one way of skipping out on work early i suppose.

* * *

**A/N: **sorry guys for the delayed update, writer's block and work! but I will update when i can :) Thanks again for the reviews/faves/reads!

**Hikari**: Unfortunately no, but I'm flattered you consider my writing so! haha ;) thanks! Glad you liked the entries

**East Coast Captain:** Connor undoubtedly, will mature when he realizes the world is not as black and white as he thought. I totally agree with the lack of Haytham in the game, it's criminal, and I will correct it soon with this fic :)

**WillZona:** Thanks! Glad you liked it :) I will be sure to check it out when i have time

**NinjaxSketcheartx :** Thanks again for your reviews :) they really push me to write more! I'm very flattered you consider my action pieces inspirational. :) As yes, it is an unfortunate fact that back then (and even now), there are those who act like monsters during wars. The shard of eden, i confess, i didn't know about because i didn't finish the naval missions, but now that i have, it may have part to play later on!

**Kirei Ryuusei: **Thanks Kirei :) glad you liked it, more to come soon! And yes, it's a pain doing all the historical research, but i'm a nut for that sometimes :)

**Tellemicus Sundance ** Thanks Tellemicus! Yes, Connor will definitely stick out like a sore thumb, but I don't think the French would be that awkward in their dealings with him, considering their own past alliances with the native tribes, and they should be very used to dealing with non-european minorities by now with their own exposure to Africa as well as the Turks in the far east.

**Trever Paterson**: Thanks for reading! :) Hope you enjoy this update too!


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